


45 Decibels

by LimeOfMagicLimo



Series: Regulus Black Is Crookshanks AU [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animal Death, BAMF Regulus Black, Domestic Fluff, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fluff, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Good Slytherins, Grief/Mourning, HP werewolves deserve better and I’m going to give them better, House Elves Appreciation, I just wanted to write Regulus interacting with Death, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, It got heavy-ish, Light Angst, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, POV Regulus Black, POV Remus Lupin, POV Sirius Black, Pet Adoption, Platonic Cuddling, Regulus Black Lives, Singing, Songfic, Technically?, Temporary Character Death, The Black brothers being Bros, briefly, gentle angst, girls don't want boys girls want Black brothers reuniation, it's Projecting On Your Fave hours
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LimeOfMagicLimo/pseuds/LimeOfMagicLimo
Summary: Loose continuation of Regulus Orange Is a New Black Cat universe. Short, disjointed stories of Regulus' life as a cat and after. An overall plot keeps sneaking in.The chapters are posted as I write them; plot-chronological order is in the Notes.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Remus Lupin, Regulus Black & Sirius Black
Series: Regulus Black Is Crookshanks AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977994
Comments: 55
Kudos: 156





	1. Don't Be a Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Regulus' face for this universe is Logan Lehrman with silver hair, but his looks are not described explicitly anywhere. Feel free to imagine your favourite Regulus fancast.
> 
> • [ Inside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099586/chapters/67265803) \- Regulus' first Yule at Potters brings some things he'd been avoiding to the front of his mind.  
> • [ Don't Be a Stranger](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099586/chapters/66172543) \- The Black Brothers struggle to reconnect with their lifes and each other.  
> • [(I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099586/chapters/66471943) \- A selection of Regulus' encounters with Death. (Non-graphic. Proceed with caution.)  
> • [All For Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099586/chapters/66982792) \- Talks about before and during the war.  
> • [Never Gonna Give You Up ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099586/chapters/66273875#workskin) \- Regulus sits his Transfiguration N.E.W.T. exam and exercises lack of impulse-control, as a treat.  
> • [You Can't Keep A Good Dog Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099586/chapters/66556399#workskin) \- The canines are having a good time at Grimmauld's Place 12.  
> •[ Carry Me Home ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099586/chapters/67652959)\- Regulus tells Harry everything Dumbledore didn't.

Sirius should be giving his full attention to the pixies-infested curtains; yet he couldn’t help but steal glances at his brother again and again. He hadn’t seen him up close since graduating Hogwarts, and then Regulus was dead _and then Lily and James were dead and Pettigrew was a traitor and Remus hated him and --_

And then he got back his godson, his friend, his freedom and his _dead brother_ back all in one night, mere three days ago.

It was staggering, and Sirius was having a hard time finding his footing. 

* * *

This flamboyant 33 years old was nothing like the boy Sirius remembered. The Regulus Sirius used to know was quiet, withdrawn, prefered company of house elves to his housemates up until the third year when he made Seeker on the Quidditch team. A perfectionist, a soft idiot who would bend over backwards to get a smidge of their parent’s approval.

Watching the adult in front of him Sirius couldn’t help but wonder if young Regulus’ wasn’t _repressed_ rather than quiet by nature.

Maybe it was because of the 14 years without the ability to articulate his thoughts. But Regulus _loved_ to talk. He talked to Kreacher and the paintings, he rambled at the nasties crawlies he shook out of throw pillows, he narrated or sang to himself when nobody else was in the room. He wasn’t loud. He never raised his voice, not when he fought Sirius on throwing out “priceless” family heirlooms, not when he stubbed his toe on a table. But he was never _silent_.

Sirius once caught him passed out on a divan talking from his sleep.

Right now, Regulus was singing under his breath as he was dealing with his own set of infested curtains. Him and Dumbledore agreed that the Black’s ancestral house was the safest place for them to reside in while their trials and Regulus’ legal resurrection were in motion. Turns out the Grimmauld’s Place 12 has been cankering since mother’s death in 1984, the batty house elf only tending to her portrait and leaving the rest of the house to dust. Sirius half-heartedly hoped the foul creature would have a heart attack and drop dead upon seeing his favourite Master alive and well; but no such luck. Remus dragged him away to the kitchen so that the two had some privacy but Sirius was sure there had been tears on both sides. Regulus’ eyes at least were red when he joined them in the kitchen. “Kreacher will be here shortly with cleaning supplies,” was the only thing he said.

The ease with which Regulus took charge was also new. Back in the day he was all too happy to follow instructions, found safety in rules and protocols. Now, apparently armed with experience of watching countless muggles clean, he declared the kitchen and the bathrooms to be the priorities. Under his lead they could eat off the floor by the midnight. Next step was apparently _Toss or Keep_ , in which everything that wasn't screwed to the floor was either thrown out or packed safely and stored in a hut Regulus magically erected in the backyard.

He didn’t wait for somebody else to decide, he didn’t ask permission. It felt like he knew perfectly where his place in the world was, and all he had to do was to move the world around him.

He has taken to wearing muggle clothes, much to Kreacher’s chagrin; black seemed to still be his favourite colour, but it was newly accompanied by splashes of rainbow in unexpected places. Today it was a headband keeping his hair out of his face and mysteriously, his shoelaces. It was unobtrusive but still somehow held more personality than Regulus’ entire school career.

The tune on his lips Sirius didn’t recognise but it was upbeat, and Regulus looked content, swishing great-aunt Cassiopea’s wand (the only wand they found could tolerate him; it would have to do until his legal paperwork came through) to the rhythm. 

_They’re creepy_ (swish) _and they’re cooky_ (swish) _na naa na na…_ (a harder shake on the curtains) _spooky; they’re altogether ooky, the Adams family!_ (swish swish)

It was at the exceptionally joyful _Adams Family!_ s when Regulus looked up from his work and their eyes met. Sirius fought the impulse to quickly look away. Instead he looked away slowly.

He didn’t know what was keeping him from talking to Regulus. He had never been one to avoid confrontations, that has always been Regulus’ thing. It was almost like their personalities have switched. The little brother self-assured and the older floundering. He flicked his wand at a pixie with more force than necessary, venting some of his frustration.

Regulus’ humming picked up again after a short, wobbly minute. The song was different, soft and slow and yearning.

_Hmm nana naa na na, na naa nahmmm… desire was too strong to put up a fight, hmm don’t understand the way I feel although it feels right… Hmm nana naa na na, na naa... tonight..._

Sirius glared harder at the curtains in his hands, knowing and hating that this particular song was not sung for Regulus’ pleasure. No, it was for him, the supposedly brave Gryffindor, from a man he had mistakenly considered to be an idiot coward for so long.

_In your eyes there’s a sign of intensity, I sense an atmosphere, no need to hide from the way that you feel inside, there’s nothing left to fear,_

Sirius took a deep, sharp breath; shut his eyes, shoulders hunched over. The song got clearer, closer, but no less tender.

_If only for tonight... don’t be a stranger, I want to take this chance, risk it all for you, hmmhm... what I’m gonna do… if only for tonight… Don’t be a stranger. I want it all... from you tonight._

_You’re on my mind all the time, I really shouldn’t hmmm na na... tonight, But the more and more I think of it, the more it just seems right. I really... shouldn't be here tonight._

He felt the heat of Regulus' body on his back, felt Regulus hook his chin over his shoulder, felt the weight of it, felt his brother’s arms elope him in an embrace. He could feel the vibrations of Regulus’ chest, the song in his ear both gentle and painful.

_Now… I don’t know who I really am, I’m lost without a trace, So take me high, take me low, anyhow you know, and help me if you can._

If Sirius still knew how to cry, he would be sobbing as Regulus held him closer and started swaying them from side to side, a motion as soothing as Lily’s hugs. Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin --

_If only for tonight, don’t be a stranger, I want to take this chance, risk it all for you; knowing what I’m gonna do, if only for tonight… Don’t be a stranger._

_Why... I don’t know... I’m in too deep to say no, hold me close, don't let me go... I want to take this chance, risk it all for you, it’s what I’m gonna do..._

With a choked off sound, Sirius wrapped his arms around Regulus’ and held on. Just held on. 

There was still a great deal of things they had to talk about but for now, this was enough.

* * *

Downstairs, the front door shut closed. Walburga’s portrait started screaming of half-breeds and filth. Regulus huffed and reluctantly let go of his brother - but not before giving him a parting squeeze. “I’m going to paint her mouth over,” he declared, “and if that doesn’t work, we’ll knock the wall down.” He patted Sirius’ shoulder and stalked off to help Lupin shut up the caricature of their mother. 

His steps were as light as a cat’s and his lips moved just as quietly, rehearsing the plan for the next few days. Being a human was challenging after so long, but recovering from 12 years of Azkaban must be harder. He could be okay as long as Sirius needed him. He could be whatever Sirius needed him to be for as long as he needed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tilte from Don't Be A Stranger by Dina Carroll (1993), which is the song Regulus is singing to Sirius.
> 
> There's art now! I commissioned nessabugart on tumblr, and she made this beautiful piece!   
> [ Go check it out ♥](https://nessabugart.tumblr.com/post/633474517333884928/commission-piece-of-walburga-and-regulus-black)


	2. Never Gonna Give You Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus sits his N.E.W.T. Transfiguration exam, goes for a walk and exercises lack of self-control, as a treat.
> 
> Mentions of euthanasia in animal shelters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If euthanasia's a trigger for you, beware of the paragraph towards the end that starts with: "Some of them might have a". You'll probably see it coming from the context. It's not graphic and it is very brief, but do look out for yourselves.
> 
> I'm using this floorplan for Grimmauld's Place 12 [ by StagNight on DeviantArt ](https://www.deviantart.com/stagnight/art/Grimmauld-Floor-Plans-127080074)

Regulus’ coming back to life went as smoothly as it possibly could. Since he had joined Death Eaters at the tender age of 16, got out two years before Voldemort’s fall (before graduating Hogwarts even), his name never came up in others’ testimonies in other context than “the quiet kid who disappeared” and Dumbledore vouched for him, he was absolved of all guilt. 

Sirius, whose trial was on hold because those imbeciles at the Ministry let Peter Pettigrew escape, refused to bear the title of Lord Black. He said nothing has changed in that regard since his teens. He hated dressing up and rubbing elbows with other rich kids. Couldn’t sit still in the classroom, much less a Wizengamot meeting that often stretched on for hours. He was too impulsive for the job. Although, Regulus’ own impulse control suffered quite the damage from his cat days. Cats don’t need impulse control.

Trial on hold and Pettigrew being on the loose meant Sirius couldn’t leave the safety of Grimmauld’s Place’s wards in either form. It ate away at the man. Despite the deep clean and finalising redecoration the house had been subjected to, there were too many bitter memories. He had no people around to distract him either; Regulus was often out, meeting with Gringotts, familiarizing himself with various pies the Blacks had fingers in, organising cleaning and reconstructions of numerous properties, corresponding with French government over the Black vineyards in Loire Valley,  _ sitting his N.E.W.T.s. _ And Remus was busy job-hunting, a difficult task now that his werewolf nature was public knowledge. 

Grimmauld’s place may be a step up from a cell in the Azkaban but Sirius was still miserable, and only getting worse. Regulus _had to_ find a way to get his brother a better living.

* * *

The young Lord sighed, hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks, and looked around to check where his wondering legs had brought him. He had completely zoned out as soon as he walked out of the exam room at the Ministry, and the rest of it was a blur of analysing his own performance.

To his great surprise, he wasn’t far from his ‘86-’88 stamping ground; he could see the former London Lesbian and Gay Centre just two blocks away. He’d spent some of his family-less winters there; it was where he bid goodbye to the last remains of his pureblood prejudice. It wasn’t a perfect place - the management had been abysmal for one. But it had been a sanctuary and he was sad to see it gone, replaced with offices. 

He continued down the Cowcross Street towards the Farringdon Underground station, humming the opening tunes of  _ Bohemian Rhapsody _ . If he had walked here all the way from the Ministry, it must have been almost dinner time. And while it was tempting to continue walking and see how different  _ this  _ part of London was from a human perspective, he didn’t want Sirius to have to dine with Kreacher. The two still didn’t get along. At all.

Even deep in thought he instinctively dived into an alley before his brain truly registered the danger; the danger being animal control. Regulus’ lips formed a thin line, his entire body poised to take flight. He watched the two men in abhorred uniforms walk past, one of them swinging a cat carrier lightly. Regulus caught just a glimpse of a tabby cat squeezed into a far corner of the carrier.

Had he been a cat, he’d stay hidden for ten minutes after the animal control workers were gone and be jumpy for the next three days. But, he realised in a moment akin to enlightenment, he wasn’t. He wasn’t Fozzie, only just figuring out how to survive on the streets, he wasn’t Ginger who knew all the kind grannies this side of Thames, he wasn’t Plato the Student Café’s Stray. He didn’t only reach to their knees. He might actually be taller than them.

With a slow exhale, Regulus regained his bearing and forcibly relaxed. “You are Regulus Arcturus Black, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. You can clearly articulate your wishes and needs.” He knew talking to oneselves’ was considered a sign of insanity; Sirius had certainly given him a share of weird looks for it. But it  _ helped _ . “You have opposable thumbs. You have a wand. You’re rich. Your brother would avenge you. They should quiver before you.”

In a burst of courage he rolled out of the alley and followed the animal control workers. He had to face this particular fear, like he was working on his fright of water bodies; this was as good a time as any.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the destination, Regulus’ lips moving silently in a constant stream of encouragement. The shelter looked clean, but Regulus could smell the distinct odour of animals under the stench of chlorine disinfection. Regulus could feel his heart rate rise at the sight of the cages, knowing there were almost certainly more in the back. The pets displayed were the friendlier, prettier fellows; the customer baits. 

Some of them might have a death sentence hanging upon them. The shelters Regulus had been to - only four (thank heaven to that), there was a waiting period of five to seven days. The first time the Potters took him in, t wo times he managed to slip out; the final time it had been just before Christmas and he got adopted as a gift for a child. He’d spent  _ weeks  _ on his best cat behaviour so that the parents wouldn’t return him to the shelter. They didn’t, but he did end up being abandoned when they moved to Liverpool.

The thought of these animals feeling as unsafe as he did in their place was detestable. I _ could buy this entire place out, _ he thought and oh, wasn’t that an idea. He stepped up to the counter. The young girl, a volunteer probably, looked up from a thin book in her lap and gave him a practiced customer smile. 

“Hiya! Can I help you?”

“Hello. I am looking to adopt.” Regulus licked his lips. The girl - Tiffany, her badge said, was watching him expectantly. “What are your most at risk animals?”

* * *

“Honey I’m home!” Regulus chimed as he closed the door of Grimmauld’s Place 12 with his heel. He nearly tripped over the leash but caught himself smoothly; he didn’t even jostle the two carbon boxes in his arms. He staggered to the dining room and set the boxes on the floor gently. Then he tied the end of the leash to the leg of the table, filled a plate with water and set in on the floor with a soft, “Good boy. Wait.” He cast a quick spell to be notified if the animals were in notable distress and set off to find his wayward brother.

Sirius was, true to his increasingly worrying habit, sprawled face-down on his bed. Regulus climbed on the bed and dropped on top of his brother. Sirius groaned under his weight. “Reg. You’re not twenty pounds anymore.”

“Not my problem,” the slightly smaller man replied through his poor attempts at purring. He really missed cat vocal chords in these situations. Back at the Potters', they could spend hours just napping like this.

He poked Sirius in the ribs to provoke a reaction.

Sirius swatted at him and, when that didn’t stop the assault, shook him off and sat up. His face had sheet creases printed on it and his cherished hair was a bird nest. “How was Transfiguration? You’ve been gone for quite a while. Missed dinner. Kreacher missed you.”

Regulus grinned. “Just Kreacher? And it was dreadful. If I hadn’t just finished all come-back-to-life the paperwork, I’d fake my death and move to America.” 

Sirius just grinned at his dramatics. “So you’re getting an E instead of an O, what a horror,” he said. Regulus shoved him in the shoulder.

“Twat. Anyway, to distract myself from the utter humiliation of a crowing alarm clock, I took a walk. And bought myself something I always wanted. And because I am a good brother, I got something for you too.” He rolled out of the bed and combed his hair off his face with his fingers, making it even messier. “Come on, it’s in the kitchen.” 

The small smile on Sirius’ face was so worth looking a little bit like an idiot.

* * *

“You got us a dog.”

“Yes. And cats.”

Sirius raised his gaze from the excited black German Boxer to his brother who opened the first box slowly. There was an older tuxedo lady, hissing. “This is Curiosity; and this is Satisfaction,” Regulus opened the second box and revealed a black domestic shorthair tomcat. Sirius stared back. Regulus left them to it and started unpacking the final box, which held the essentials. 

“Curiosity and Satisfaction,” Sirius repeated.

“You can name the dog,” Regulus said graciously. “Curiosity is blind so please talk to her when you approach so that she’s not startled. Satisfaction has diabetes. The boxer is perfectly fine, his owners just weren’t able to give him the attention he needed. ...He was nearing the end of the shelter’s two weeks waiting period.” He fished Satisfaction's meds out of the box and went to put it away in the kitchen. He could feel Sirius' eyes on him, assessing, and probably coming to correct conclusions.

“So… are you going to adopt every stray you meet?” the older man asked lightly, even as he crouched down to let the dog sniff his hand.

“Don’t be daft,” Regulus scoffed. “That would be unrealistic. How _ ever _ …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What should Sirius name his new best friend? I'm taking suggestions! And yes, Regulus is absolutely going to set up a no-kill animal shelter in one of the unused Black properties.
> 
> Changed the chapter's title for 2 reasons:  
> 1\. I decided to keep the theme of song titles, songs Regulus could have heard (aka released before his point in the timeline, currently summer 1994)  
> 2\. Never Gonna Give You Up perfectly captures what Regulus feels to both Sirius and all the abandoned pets of London.


	3. (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A selection of Regulus' run-ins with Death (and a tiny bit of plot if you squint really hard). Unsurprisingly, it revolves around death and dying. It's not graphic but please watch out for yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might see in the tags, I utilised Death from the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett.   
> Death is an anthropomorphic personification of the natural phenomenon. He is born from imagination and belief. Every now and then a New Death is 'born', collects current Death and takes over the job. Beedle the Bard's Death was petty and took pride in collecting souls exactly on time; Regulus' Death is fascinated by life and humanity and is willing to bend the rules to some extent, such as allowing people to play chess, cards or Monopoly for their lives. Also, he's a cat lover.
> 
> Do you write 'rulebook' or 'rule book'?

Bard Beedle was rather unfair to Death in his story, Regulus thought, pushing his cheek harder against the skeleton fingers. As far as the cat animagus was concerned, the deity was one of the best people he ever had the pleasure to meet. He was polite, affable. Fond of the living even as life befuddled him.

They were on the patio of Regulus current favourite establishment. The food was probably mediocre at best, but the waiters were very generous with sour cream, which was easy on Regulus’ aching teeth. He needed to get adopted and checked out by a vet as soon as possible, but he had yet to find a family he’d trust enough with that.

Death’s scythe, an instrument sharp enough to cut the connection between a soul and a body, was leaned against the back of Death’s chair. The entity himself was sunbathing, waiting for the sand in hourglass of an important nobody to run out. Regulus was half-hidden in the folds of Death’s cloak, purring his head off.

Death hit a particularly good spot between his shoulder blades and Regulus' claws flexed in pleasure. The silvery black silk-like material bunched up around his paws, prompting something in Regulus' cat-shaped brain and before he knew it, he was chasing imaginary mice. It cost him the scratches but Death seemed content to let the animagus assault his clothes. Fibres caught on Regulus’ claws and he brought the fabric to his face to bite it - and froze. 

Both his paw and the piece of cloak covering it were gone. No, not gone.

Invisible.

An older lady sitting two tables away collapsed and Death had to go collect her. But the idea was already planted in Regulus mind.

He had marveled at James’ Cloak of Invisibility before; and sputtered at the carelessness with which the man treated the priceless, unique family heirloom. He would just let it hang over the back of a chair for days. That only stopped after toddler Harry managed to pull the cloak over himself and send the entire household into chaos. After that Lily enforced the rule of putting the cloak in the wardrobe where Harry couldn’t grab it.

He didn’t know what happened to it - it was probably in Dumbledore’s possession. Regulus recalled James saying Dumbledore asked to borrow it, but wasn’t sure if James gave it to him before the terrible night or not. He was slowly forgetting. 

Exact order of events was becoming blurry, ordinary days melting one into another, only leaving selected scenes standing strong. He couldn’t remember what James looked like that day in the shelter, but Lily’s blue knitted sweater and delicate pearl earrings he recalled with clarity. 

Sirius’ face was a mashup of the awe-worthy older brother, the haughty teenager who run away from home and the rugged young adult who chased after Harry when the toddler was wrecking havoc on his little broomstick. 

His image of Remus Lupin consisted almost exclusively of sad eyes and scars, scars, scars. 

Peter Pettigrew was clouded with pure rage, a caricature of a human being, small and hunched and  _ pathetic  _ and  _ ugly _ . 

Father, he recalled his quiet but overbearing presence, the heavy hand on his shoulder as he was taught of family’s assets and businesses. 

Mother was sharp; looming, never satisfied. A reprimand, admonishment, beratement; Sirius was too unruly, Regulus was too soft. Family reputation above else. 

Kreacher was sweets after dinner, loyalty beyond grave.

Losing his memories of them felt like losing them all again.

Cats don’t cry tears, but that night Regulus yowled his grief to dirty alleys of London.

* * *

_ Please let me wake up, _ Regulus thought, but he wasn’t asleep and this wasn’t a nightmare. His insides burned worse than with Voldemort’s poison and he was dying, he knew he was, he craved it if only to make the pain stop. 

Thin, bony fingers caressed his fur. Death’s voice resonated in his ears but he was too far gone to understand. 

_ Swish _ .

Blessed relief.

Shaking, Regulus crawled into the welcoming embrace of Death and burrowed in his cloak, hiding away from the world.

THERE THERE, the skeleton said, petting him. IT IS DONE NOW. 

Regulus yowled sadly. He didn’t even know what he did, to die so horribly. It certainly felt like poisoning - did somebody add rat poison to the food they offered him? Were the beef chunks from that restaurant so far beyond their expiration date? It had smelled  _ fine _ .

He knew Death stayed with him longer than he strictly should have, and was very glad for it. He became wary of accepting food that didn’t come fresh or in a cat can. He became wary of food.

* * *

Mrs. Preston’s hourglass has stopped two hours and twenty-three minutes ago.

Regulus pawed his pawn one square forward. Death, hidden under his invisibility cloak, scrubbed his skull and moved his knight three squares forward and one diagonally. Regulus meowed and battered the chess piece back. Death picked up the chess rule book that was lying face down on his bony thigh, studied it for a long moment. Set the book down and moved the knight correctly. Regulus regarded the chessboard carefully despite having his game planned three steps ahead.

They were playing to stall, not to win.

Regulus’ current owner was old. She knew her time was up, and had made her peace with it. She only wanted to bid goodbye to her children before she went, but her eldest couldn't make it until the evening.

And so when Death came to collect her soul, Regulus bargained. Death was surprisingly willing to bend the rules a little by playing a game for the witch’s life. Regulus suspected a part of it was that Death was feeling lonely and welcomed a familiar face. They chose chess over cards for Regulus didn’t know any card games but Exploding Snap and they didn’t want to set fire to the bed.

Regulus hasn't played chess since Hogwarts - and has it really been over a decade now? Time passed differently when one was about one foot tall and three feet long. Death couldn’t work out how knights were supposed to move; a long term problem by his stories. Regulus loved Death’s dry wit, his confusion over humanity.

_ Is there any truth to the Tale of Three Brothers? If you don’t mind me asking, _ Regulus inquired at hour five. The question has been sitting on his mind for years but it was only now he it was a good time to ask.

IT IS POSSIBLE, Death said, MY PREDECESSOR WAS MUCH STINGIER ABOUT RULES THAN I AM NOW. 

_ Excuse me, your  _ **_what_ ** now _? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The culprit behind Regulus' third death was antifreeze. It's very poisonous and regretfully, smells and tastes very attractively to cats and dogs. https://ourpetshealth.com/info/antifreeze-poisoning-in-cats
> 
> Title: (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight (1986) by Cutting Crew. At first I thought it was too cheesy, but reading lyrics some of the verses gave me Big Regulus Feels.
> 
> The next chapter is back to brotherly angsty fluff I swear!


	4. You Can't Keep A Good Dog Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The canines are having a good time at Grimmauld's Place 12.

The ancestral house had changed beyond all recognition since the first time Remus visited. The dim green-striped wallpapers had been torn down and exchanged for a much lighter paper with wiener dog print. Remus thought it reflected the new Lord Black perfectly - the gray was close to silver enough to be a nod to the family’s ties to Slytherin. The print captured Regulus’ good spirit and quirkiness. In similar fashion, the mould-ridden mustard curtains were replaced with burgundy, which surprisingly matched the hunter green and gold of the cushioning on original furniture. The entire house was lighter - not necessarily more welcoming, but the wards felt less oppressing each time he came over.

There was a new change this particular evening: a distinct lack of Mrs. Black’s screeching. It’s been replaced with just as loud barking and Sirius’ laughter. The latter made the werewolf’s heart jump - he hadn’t heard Sirius sound so happy, so carefree, in years. “Who’s there? Who’s there? Is that Reggie? Go fetch Reggie!” 

A large black dog careered into the hall from the staircase, coming to a sharp stop at the sight of a stranger. Its excited barking turned anxious, but it still looked friendly enough. Remus smiled at it and offered his hand for sniffing while not moving from the door. “Hello there.”

“Remus?” Sirius emerged from the basement. “Didn’t know you were coming today. Meteor, come.” The dog, Meteor, obediently trotted to his owner’s side and was rewarded a treat from Sirius’ pocket.

Sirius was right that Remus usually stayed home before the full moon but… “Regulus invited me for dinner,” Remus explained, taking off his coat and toeing off his shoes. Regulus introduced a rather strict ‘no shoes’ rule after the carpets were cleaned, and bought several pairs of fuzzy slippers in several bright colours. Some of them had floppy bunny ears. Remus slipped into a pair of gray ear-less ones. “Run into him when I was picking up my potion from Dumbledore’s office. He looked tired?”

A shadow crossed the dark haired man’s face and Remus realised he touched a sore subject. “I don’t think he gets much sleep. Tea?” Sirius led the way into the kitchen.

“Yes please,” Remus said. He leaned his hip on the kitchen counter; Meteor brought him a ball with surprisingly little slobber on it. He took it and, unsure if he should throw it inside, sent it rolling across the floor into the dining room. Meteor scattered chasing after it. 

“You just signed up for an hour of fetch,” Sirius informed him, clattering in the cupboards. “It’s just, he finishes one thing and takes on three more. He’s spreading himself thin and thinks I don’t notice. He doesn’t avoid talking about things, but he’s keeping the burn of it to himself,” he growled. Sirius never took well feeling helpless. He hated that Regulus walked on eggshells around him, hated that he couldn’t _do_ anything. He was the older brother. It was _his_ job to look out for ickle Reggie, not the other way around. 

“I think,” Remus said, carefully weighing his words, “you’re helping more than you think. Regulus, he needs - he needs a linchpin. Something or someone to hold onto, to come home back to. ... _You_ ’re his _home_ , Sirius,” Remus stressed.

It was clear Sirius wanted to scoff at the idea but valued Remus’ input too much to discard it outright. That was… different from the young man he used to be, foursquared to the fault. “This wretched house is his home,” he countered. He set two mugs, a tea kettle and a tin can of biscuits on the counter next to his friend.

“No,” Remus looked around the room, recalling the miserable place it had been before Regulus wrestled it into its current state. “No, I really don’t think so. Think about it; everything Regulus does, he does for people. He joined the Death Eaters for your parents and turned on Voldemort for Kreacher. He returned to this place for Kreacher _and you_. He flipped this house upside down for you. I’m guessing the dog was his idea as well?” he asked.

“I don’t think I like where you’re going with that.” Sirius had been sure the spontaneous adoption was something Regulus did one hundred percent for his own sake. That most of the care for the hyperactive dog fell to Sirius was only common sense since he was always home. It wasn’t a, a calculated move to get Sirius to feel better. Remus implying that Regulus took the pets in for Sirius’ benefit rather than his own… Sirius wouldn’t know what to do with that.

Remus smiled that way he did when he knew Sirius knew exactly what he meant but wasn’t ready to admit it. “Just think about it.” He took the ball from Meteor (who’s been trying to catch his attention for some time) and sent it rolling again. “So how long have you had him? Did he see you transform yet?”

* * *

Smell of Kreacher’s cooking made Regulus’ mouth water as soon as he crossed the threshold. He was spent, and hungry, and in desperate needs of some physical affection. It was a little disheartening that Meteor didn’t come to greet him. It’s only been a few days but Regulus has already gotten used to the dog tripping over himself to welcome him home, with Sirius on his heels. It was nice. 

“Kreacher?” he called softly. The house elf popped up in front of him, the uniform Regulus had transfigured for him hidden under an apron.

“Welcome back, Master Regulus! Should Kreacher take Master’s bag?” 

Regulus smiled in spite of the pain blooming in his chest. It was there anytime he set his gaze on his oldest friend. The guilt and shame of what he had done to the elf. “That would be most kind of you, Kreacher, thank you. Everything alright while I was out?” He had left Kreacher. He had left Kreacher like Sirius had left him, worse than that. He had left Kreacher with nothing but morbid secrets, increasingly insane mother, a Horcrux, and an impossible task. He didn't deserve Kreacher’s loyalty. But he had it, and he had sworn to treat it as the most precious gift it was.

“Filthy werewolf showed up, yes he did, but Kreacher said nothing, Kreacher won’t be bringing shame to Master Regulus,” the house elf grumbled. 

He took Kreacher’s cold, bony hand in his and squeezed. “I know that, and I deeply appreciate you.”

The hand in his squeezed back. “Master Regulus should go freshen up. Kreacher will be serving dinner in the dining room at Master’s convenience.”

Regulus nodded and let go of Kreacher’s hand. “That I shall do. Sirius and Remus are...?”

“In the yard, Master.”

“Thank you. I will tell them to get ready.”

Kreacher appareated away and Regulus headed to the yard. As soon as he turned a corner he could hear barking and playful growling, and see Remus’ leaning on the doorframe. Regulus joined him, plastering himself on the man’s back and hooking his chin over Remus’ shoulder. He could feel the man stiffen, then relax, lean back into the touch.

On the grass, as well as the herbal seedbed Regulus worked on when letters started dancing in front of his eyes, Meteor was merrily playing tug-o-war with the Grim. 

Padfoot was much larger than the boxer and Regulus suspected he could easily drag Meteor around on the rope toy; and he did, but would let go the next moment, turning the game into a chase, barking loudly and snapping at Meteor’s back playfully. Then he snatched a different toy from the ground and tables turned, Meteor trying to steal Padfoot’ frisbee.

“How did that go?” Regulus asked softly.

“I wish I had a camera,” Remus replied and wasn’t that an idea?

They watched the dog and the animagus in silence (relative silence; Regulus was humming Once Upon A Dream from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty; it’s been stuck in his head since the early morning) and Regulus felt the stress of the day fall off his shoulders. 

Eventually the rollicking canines noticed his presence. They both floored it to Regulus, Meteor beating Padfoot to it by the skin of teeth. “Hello, hello boy, hello,” he greeted the boxer who was beside himself in excitement. “Sit - that’s a good boy.” He fished a treat from his pocket and rewarded the obedience. “Such a good boy. Padfoot?” he raised his eyebrows at his brother, who was looking on, wagging his tail. “Be a good role model? Sit.” The Grim huffed but sat down nonetheless. “Good boy,” Regulus cheered and threw him a beef jerky. “Alright, it’s dinner time. Go clean up, I’ll take care of Meteor and meet you in the dining room.”

The Grim spun around and transformed. Meteor nearly lost his mind at seeing his owner again and Regulus understood Remus’ earlier sentiment; the dog’s face was priceless.

* * *

Remus was getting ready to leave when Regulus asked with feigned indifference, “Why don’t you stay the night?”

The sudden tension could be cut with a knife. Sirius was poised to act; act how, he himself probably didn’t know.

“It’s the full moon today,” Remus said at last.

“I am aware,” Regulus replies lightly, “and I thought you might be more comfortable in a friendly environment and Sirius’ company.” The dog animagus perked up at the prospect of helping his friend again. Remus himself seemed like he was going to object, but Regulus didn’t let him. “I know for a fact you have the Wolfsbane potion from Professor Snape. And even if you didn’t, between the wards, myself, Sirius and Kreacher, we wouldn’t let you harm anyone. So, it’s up to you. If you feel comfortable spending the night here rather than alone, you are more than welcome to stay.”

He finished his glass and set it down on the table. Pushing Remus would do no good, and in the end the decision was between him and Sirius. Regulus could only offer a guest room and chewing toys for the canines to entertain themselves. “I’m taking Meteor for his evening walk. The guest room is available if you want it,” he finished with a smile and elegantly bowed out.

He took Meteor around the block, noticing how much calmer the dog was than usually. He chalked it up to the workout he had gotten with Padfoot. Sirius was beaming with content all evening, and Regulus allowed himself to feel a little smug. As unenthused Sirius was about the pets at first, there was no denying he bonded with Meteor. He no longer spent his days brooding, putting considerable time and energy into keeping Meteor entertained. It was rewarding for both the man and Meteor, whose needs had been neglected by his previous family and shelter both. (He had to visit the shelter again one of these days; being its new owner and all.)

And as much as Sirius pretended to not care for the cats, he had developed a gentle repulsing/cushioning charm and charmed every vertical surface in the house with it so that Curiosity would stop bumping into walls and chairs on her exploration quests. That was downright cute and Regulus was going to weaponize that piece of information as soon as the opportunity arose. 

When they arrived back home, the moon was already up in the sky and Remus’ shoes were still on the shoe rack. If he listened very carefully, he could hear an occasional muted bark or a squeak of a toy from upstairs. “Looks like they’re having a good time, hm?” he addressed Meteor. The boxer seemed to be curious about what was going on but Regulus didn’t think it was a good idea to bring him close to the werewolf so soon. “We’ll have our own party, what do you say?”

They made themselves cosy in the study, Regulus on his divan with  _ Who Is Who Of Wizarding Politics  _ Dumbledore compiled for him and Gurlaff expanded on, Meteor on a dog bed by his feet with a chewing toy to keep him occupied. 

That was how Sirius found them in the morning, both fast asleep, with Satisfaction wedged between Regulus' torso and the divan. He let them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ The dog print wallpaper ](https://www.grahambrown.com/uk/buckley-grey-wallpaper/106288-master.html#grey=&start=97&sz=48&cgid=wallpaper)
> 
> Title is You Can't Keep A Good Dog Down is from All Dogs Go To Heaven (1989)


	5. All For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black brothers talk about their lives before and during the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tearful angst full speed ahead! If I spent the last two days crying, I might as well channel it into something questionably productive.
> 
> Also Don't Be A Stranger has art now! [ Go check it out ♥](https://nessabugart.tumblr.com/post/633474517333884928/commission-piece-of-walburga-and-regulus-black)

He saw Sirius standing in front of the tapestry. He didn't need to look at the names woven in the fabric or the small circular mark to know whose names Sirius was tracing with his fingers. They hadn't talked about it, the years between their estrangement and Regulus' death.

"I think she regretted it as soon as she did it," he spoke. The man looked at him sharply. He must've not noticed Regulus’ presence. With bravery he didn't feel, the younger brother stepped into the room. "She was too proud to ever admit it, of course. Maybe even to herself." He stopped beside his brother, inspecting the last generation of Blacks. Sirius' face was a burn mark, and under his own name - the years 1961 - 1979. 

"I didn't regret it," Sirius said fiercely; maybe too fiercely. As if he too was hiding something from himself. 

"I know," Regulus said simply. He touched the blackened space on the tapestry, then the one where Uncle Alphard used to be.

"I had to," Sirius explained, apologised, defended himself. "I couldn't bear it for another minute here."

"I know," Regulus repeated. "I know that now. You two were too similar to get along."

Those words made Sirius jerk away as if Regulus slapped him. "I," he hissed, "am nothing like that old crazy hag."

Regulus knew there was no point arguing with Sirius about this; instead he said, "I hated you for leaving. You and Potter, the first few years. Then I blamed you for all the decisions I made hoping to keep the broken machine going.” The broken machine. Which broken machine? Was he talking about the shattered family, the mother who had started getting (what he today suspected were) anxiety attacks, his life, himself? 

“I blamed you until I had to face the fact I had no-one but myself to blame.” He rubbed his thumb over their mother’s mini-portrait, thinking of the life-sized one in the entrance hall. He didn’t remember her like that; spewing slurs. She was more dignified than that, more refined, more efficient. A scalpel, cutting with precision where it hurt the most. Even at her lowest. Especially at her lowest. “I'm glad you had somewhere to go."

"You could have come with me," Sirius said, and Regulus knew he meant it.

"Maybe," he said. "I don't think I would have, had you offered. Unlike you, I wanted to believe. In the blood coursing through our veins and that our parents loved us."

"And now?" Sirius asked quietly. 

"No to the first. The second… I hope," he replied. His eyes stung. He licked his lips, "In spite of all reason I hope, that in her own twisted way she cared for us."

* * *

Regulus mercilessly ripped the curtains off of his windows, set on ignoring his little temple to the Dark Lord for as long as he could. It made him sick to his stomach, now, that he collected proof of Death Eater's violence on muggles and muggleborns and put it up as something worthy of celebration. He'd been so stupid; so, so stupid. So fucking stupid. He didn't realise he was muttering the words under his breath over and over and over, and was unaware of his brother's gaze on him.

"Did you?"

"Did I what?" They both knew he did understand the question.

Sirius gestured at the collage of newspaper cut-outs displayed on the wall, opening his mouth and Regulus had no doubt whatever would come out would hurt just as much if not more than the blasted potion from the cave.

"No," he said quickly. He didn't think he could bear the words. "I was marked at sixteen. With the Trace on I was no good to go on raids. I," he gulped, "I saw things at the gatherings. He liked to make a spectacle of those who failed Him as much as of those who opposed Him." 

"Your birthday is the first of July." _The entire summer holiday you'd been seventeen and able to serve,_ he was saying _._

"Yes," Regulus stuffed the curtains into the garbage bag forcefully. They were beyond saving, and he didn't like them anymore anyway. "It is. As I said, I saw things. You know I couldn’t even stand house elves punishing themselves.” He breathed out harshly, and looked for something else to release the restless energy into. He had loathed himself for being weak back then, for not having the guts to fight for the Cause. He thought himself a traitor for wishing Voldemort didn’t torture the captured muggles and muggleborns and wizards. “Bellatrix was afraid, justly, that I'd barf and embarrass her in front of everyone. Between her and Lucius I was kept away from most of the nasty business. Brewing healing potions for active members and such. Volunteering Kreacher was largely to compensate for the lack of my own participation." It came out more bitter, more self-loathing than he intended. Merlin, he'd been such a fool. Stupid and a coward and weak in so many ways.

He started stripping the wall off the newspaper cut-outs methodically. 

After a few beats of silence, Sirius joined him from the other side. "I used to be ashamed of how many lines I'd cross to keep my friends safe," he said quietly. A quiet noise, half laughter, half a sob, escaped the younger's lips. 

What a pair they were. A Death Eater ashamed of not being able to kill and an Order member ashamed of being too willing to kill. But it wasn’t the same, was it?

“Not the same. Not the same at all, dear brother mine.”

They finished cleaning in relative silence.

* * *

Sirius' room still looked exactly like Regulus had left it; like the ghost of Godric Gryffindor was in charge of the decorations, somebody emptied their closet dressing up for a hot date and then didn't come back for over a decade. In a way, that was exactly what had happened.

Sirius was sorting out his writing table, Lupin tackled the bookshelves while Regulus was going through the clothes, dividing them in charity and trash piles. He remembered some pieces from the Heist Night, discarding them as not “Sirius enough” for his purpose. He needed the courage of his brother's to depart for the cave; to not continue prolonging the agony of false safety He was going to die; the when and how was the only difference. He could’ve at least died on his own terms.

“We were so young,” Sirius murmured.

Regulus glanced up from his task to Sirius inspecting a piece of paper, a photograph. He got up and slipped into Sirius’s space, looking over his shoulders. It was a photograph of the Marauders, Pettigrew included, taken in the dining room of the Potter Manor. It was someone’s birthday; James’ presumably, as he was wearing the biggest party hat and was grinning at the camera, swatting at Sirius periodically as the younger boy tried to blow out the candles. Lupin was on James’ other side, laughing at his friends’ antics. Pettigrew was sitting next to Remus, an elbow on the table, leaning towards James as if to be more included in the action. In the background Euphemia was laughing, a champagne-shaped bottle in hands.

His eyes returned to Sirius. His long hair had already lost the boyish curls he had once had, meaning the picture was taken after he ran away. He looked happier in that photo than in any of Regulus’ memories. Maybe when they were little enough to get away with hiding under the table at society events.

“James’ seventeenth,” Remus smiled, angling the photo in Sirius’ hand to see it better. 

“He had only three more years to live. We were so young,“ Sirius repeated, pain ringing through his voice. Then again, angrily, “They were so _young_.”

Regulus sensed an outburst coming and he did something he never dared to before; he wrapped his arms around Sirius in a hug.

As a child, Regulus was petrified by people yelling. He could sense a fight coming and would drift out of range of the rage. He had become very good at becoming one with the wall very soon. It was how he weathered Sirius’ fights with mother. He’d wait until Sirius stormed away; listen to mother insult Sirius until he could excuse himself. Then he would take some sweets from the kitchen and find Sirius, the older boy often still reeling; and would stand there and listen to Sirius cuss mother out until he ran out of energy. Only then he would allow himself to get close. They’d eat the sweets together, and Sirius would talk about all the things he’ll do when he grows up and mother can’t order him anymore.

He still hated people yelling. But he’d known better how to handle it, now. 

Sirius stiffened, then crumpled into his hold. His fingers twisted in the back of Regulus' shirt. “I killed them.”

“No,” Remus said, but Sirius wasn’t ready to listen. Regulus tightened his hold on the man, the hug doubling as restraints.

“I KILLED THEM!” Sirius howled, his entire body shaking with rage. “It’s my fault they’re dead! MY FAULT!” He started thrashing in Regulus’ arms, but Regulus didn’t let go. They struggled for long minutes, Sirius yelling his grief, Regulus clinging to him and ignoring the fists beating into his back and shoulders. Remus sat down on the bed heavily, head in his hands. Until Sirius ran out of anger and started sobbing. “I h-heard ab-about the atta-ack ‘n c-c-came as soon as I c-could and they we-ere dea- they were dead a-and the, the stupid ginger cat Fo-ozzie wa-as there-ere too-o and _oh Merlin’s beard that was you_ ,” Sirius finished, breath knocked out of him by the realisation.

"It didn't hurt," Regulus said. Sirius wasn’t ready to hear it wasn’t his fault. But he should know that neither of them suffered. "The Killing Curse is designed to kill every cell of the body simultaneously. It doesn’t hurt at all. Doesn’t even tickle. It's easier than falling asleep."

"To die - to sleep," Remus quoted, crying himself, and Regulus picked up, easily recognising the play. He'd seen Hamlet performed enough in the Regent's Park Open Air Theatre to know it's most famous monologue.

"No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to: 'tis consummation devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream - ay, there's the rub: for in that sleep of death what dreams may come. When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely. The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay... " He sucked in a shaky breath. The oppressor’s wrong, the pangs of despised love, the law’s delay indeed. “The insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th’ unworthy takes, when he himself might his quietus make…”

He recited on and on until his throat was hoarse, until they were all sitting on the floor, until they were too exhausted to cry.

It wasn’t the end of it.

But it was the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: All For Love by Bryan Adams, Rod Stewart & Sting.


	6. Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His first Yule at Potters, Regulus learns new things and realises others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore the Desi Potters headcanon and have been dying to implement it in the story but so far it's been "irrelevant to Regulus' journey" or felt extremely forced/clunky when I wrote it. It's not much but it's there! Yay. Also I learned a lot about British Imperialism in India. Long and interesting history, that.

Yule (and no, Regulus wasn’t calling it Christmas; he cared for the winter solstice, not some muggle god’s birthday) at Potters’ was a much merrier and less pretentious affair than what Regulus was used to. There was still a family dinner, but everybody actually liked being there and seeing each other; and instead of their best formal robes the Potters wore cosy sweaters with silly winter-themed patterns. 

Even Regulus got his own little sweater. It was green with little golden jingle bells. He had to suffer through Sirius and James pulling it over his head and bending his paws this and that way; a horrid experience. It didn't even fit properly! Fleamont laughed and transfigured a handkerchief into a little pointy green hat which Regulus kept on only long enough for Lily to snap a couple pictures. Then he ripped it off and chewed on it to express his extreme displeasure. Lily took pictures of that, too, cooing at his glowering.

Insufferable humans.

Though, Regulus would give his soul to be human for at least an hour, so that he could taste all the sweets aforementioned insufferable humans spent an entire day baking. He was especially dying to try the Indian deserts, some of which have been passed down the family since late 1600s, when Holden Potter first traveled to India with East Indian Company. The trademark unruly black hair joined the main branch of the family in 1860s when Emmanuel Potter married an Indian witch Lakshmi Rao. Regulus never knew that; since the Potters weren't a Sacred 28, he never had to study their family tree. Now he wished he had. It was certainly interesting and the Indian recipes looked and smelled _delicious_.

Alas, he got to feast on pieces of turkey James fed him under the table, the softhearted fool. All Regulus needed to do was put a paw on his knee and the young man folded like a house of cards. Sirius who practically moved in for the festive season made fun out of his best friend for it; of course Regulus couldn’t let that slide. 

He’d known Sirius since diapapers. To swindle him out of an entire slice of turkey was a piece of cake.

* * *

“Which are we opening first?” James motioned at the pile of presents, buzzing with excitement like a little child. They were all still in their pyjamas, Euphemia and Fleamont included.

“Let’s let Fozzie decide,” Sirius suggested, scratching Regulus under the chin.

“You’re only saying that because the bloody thing likes you,” James argued, though it was good-natured.

Regulus voiced his displeasure at being unceremoniously dumped into Lily's arms, but perked up when Sirius run to the kitchen and returned with the Treats Tin. “Hold him back for now. Each present gets a treat on it. When Fozzie eats the treat, we open the present.”

“Sounds fun,” Lily said and started petting Regulus; he knew it was to distract him from the treats until the boys were done, and boy did it work.

Finally he was set loose, and could take his time teasing the humans by changing his mind last second or getting distracted by the bouncy ribbons.

The first two presents were for Monty and Euphemia; as they were the Head and the Lady of the House it was only appropriate. Then Sirius, for he had the brother privileges, and then Lily because it was fun to watch James squirm. Sirius, Euphemia & Fleamont, James, Lily, Lily & James, Sirius, Sirius, Euphemia, James, Lily, James, James, Sirius, Lily, mixing it up as fairly as he could while keeping the tension up.

James’ presents were nearly all of Quidditch variety, Lily got books, a beautiful fountain pen set and from her sister Petunia and her husband a truly ugly flower vase. Regulus promised to accidentally break the monstrosity as soon as an opportunity arose. He’d seen what Lily liked and this was not it. Sirius got a bunch of muggle vinyls, a new biker jacket, a muggle toaster for his apartment, and an anonymous chocolate.

After Sirius ran away, Regulus was not allowed to talk to him. Not that he  _ wanted _ to talk to the traitor, naturally. He’d rather walk off the Astronomy Tower than spare a single gaze for his ex-brother. He didn’t miss Sirius. At all. The fights he would always stir with his insolent behaviour; they were off much better without him. (Regulus was always best at lying to himself.) But. It was Yule. Regulus found himself missing the little moments. Shared looks and eye-rolls at Aunt Lucretia’s gossiping. Stealing sweets and seeing who got more at the end of the day. The little things that made them brothers in more than just blood.

And in a moment of weakness, Regulus packed his spoils in a neat package and shipped it to Sirius. They never acknowledged it. But Regulus secretly bought a small, low-security vault at Gringotts’ and deposited 800 galleons in it. Gurlaff, his Gringotts account manager, was instructed to send 10 galleons worth of chocolate to Sirius Orion Black every Christmas Eve until Sirius Orion Black’s demise. 

This was the first time Regulus got to see Sirius’ reaction. He didn’t even know if Sirius knew the chocolate was from him. From the clench of Sirius’ jaw and James cautious gaze; he probably knew. Sirius stared at the fine collection of chocolate bars, face unreadable, until James put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

Regulus didn’t know how he felt about it all. Was he jealous or glad that Potter was offering Sirius comfort? Was he glad that Sirius felt something about his death? Or would he rather Sirius be indifferent?

He chose to distract himself with more cat treats and wrapping paper and plotting how to get rid of the ugly vase.

* * *

Watching Lily carefully clean the broken porcelain, Regulus wondered what Lily’s relationship with her sister was. They weren’t close, at least Regulus didn’t think so. He did wonder what happened between the sisters. Lily didn’t talk about Petunia much, and when she did it felt resigned. James would always grab her hand and squeeze comfortingly.

Was Petunia much older than Lily, or were they close in age like himself and Sirius? Did the impersonal gifts mean as much to her as they might mean to him, if Sirius ever got him anything? Did they use to be close like himself and Sirius? Were they too best friends before Hogwarts and life put a divide between them? Or maybe the rift started much sooner, with Lily being the only witch in her family? 

Regulus never before gave a serious thought to how being a mudblo- muggleborn. How being a muggleborn was for the children. With the Statue of Secrecy firmly in place, muggleborns weren’t told they were a witch or a wizard until they got their Hogwarts’ letter on their 11th birthday… while accidental magic started happening as soon as at three years of age. What did the children, the families think was happening? What excuses did they come up for their child's oddities? Or were purebloods right and muggle parents stole magic for their children?  But if muggles had no idea of magic existing, how could have the knowledge of rituals needed to strip one of their natural powers? And if such magic existed, wouldn't pureblood parents steal the magic back for their squib children?

Just like that, there was a major hole in what Regulus had been taught his entire life. He couldn’t understand how he didn’t see the flaw in his parents’ logic sooner. Maybe he didn't want to see it. It challenged his beliefs in a way not even the discovery of Horcruxes did. And he could not talk about it to anyone, only have the thoughts circle in his head on loop. What his parents always said, how they acted; his friends, Sirius and the Marauders, Lily, the Potters. The Dark Lord. 

His current small feline brain wasn’t built to ponder such big questions, or such was the excuse Regulus gave himself to stop thinking about it. He curled up in Lily’s lap - an apology for the broken vase, and let her squish his cheeks and rub his ears even though he didn’t like it much. But there was comfort in it. Perhaps the vase was the same - a comfort of not being forgotten.

He didn’t destroy any other of Petunia’s presents, no matter how unpleasantly they looked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Inside by Stiltskin


	7. Don't Stop Me Now (I'm Having Such a Good Time)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff!

He walked out of the Ministry and took a deep breath of the crisp air. After fourteen hours in the courtroom… a poet would say it felt like being born again. Regulus who came back from the death more than once thought it felt more like an adrenaline crash.

His hands were still shaking. There was still the foul taste of vomit in his mouth; he wasn’t the only one who got sick when his memories of the cave were being scrutinized. Unspeakable Monsktanely fell out of the Pensive dry-heaving. Not even Madame Bones objected when the Unspeakable pulled a flask out of her robes and offered everyone a swing. Regulus had declined; the idea of drinking something made his throat squash and his stomach turn. 

He took another deep breath. In, hold, out. He didn’t dare to close his eyes. He feared he’d see the rotting flesh of the Inferi, feel the ghost of their hands on his body. In, hold, out. In the crowd, a familiar head of dirty blonde hair caught the attention of his stress-heightened senses. It was weird, being so tall. 

“Hello,” he greeted the other man when he got close enough. It wasn’t that he minded the older man’s presence, but… “What brings you here?”

“Dumbledore sent a message that you were done, and that you turned down his offer to use the floo,” Lupin explained. “I was just about to go get more wood polish,” he raised the bag in his hand to prove his statement truthful, “and thought I should check in with you if there is anything else we might need.”

Regulus’ lips flattened in a thin line. He didn’t like the idea of the Headmaster spying on him and passing the information along; especially since the information was askew. He didn’t even know Dumbledore was at the Ministry; at no point did the Headmaster offer to floo him. Regulus was a little stressed, but he wasn’t out of it. He would never forget an entire interaction with a person he was wary of. Lupin did not know that, though, his offer of company genuine. 

“I wanted to look around for some nice new wallpapers,” he told Lupin, “the current ones are horrid. I believe there was an interior design shop not far from here, if that strikes your fancy?”

“Lead the way,” Lupin said and fell into step with the dark haired man. “Sirius is going to have a field day ripping the old paper off the walls.”

“I sure hope so,” Regulus answered. “It’s like unwrapping presents - if you wished for dry rot, that is.” That led to a discussion on the topic of dry rot, its treatment, their experiences with the fungus, an exchange of interesting facts about fungi in general. The conversation was mundae yet refreshing in the ways only mundae things can be; and it was a good distraction from the prevailing tightness in his chest. 

“A British naturalist Alfred Wallace discovered this fungus which infects ants and changes their behavioral patterns,” Regulus was just saying when he noticed a small _ ‘Garage sale This way ->’  _ sign. He touched Remus’ shoulder briefly and pointed him in the direction of the sale. There were always interesting things to be found there, and muggle items decorating the Black family ancestral house would make Sirius cackle with glee. “The infected ants leave their nest - they’re some species of tree ants if I remember correctly, and wander through the rainforest where the conditions are favourable for the fungus until they die.”

The garage sale was an old man seated in a lawn chair, surrounded by stacks of boxes. There were books, clothes, and one box was exclusively filled with vinyl records. Remembering the functional gramophone they found in the attics, Regulus started flipping through the vinyls. Remus was making small talk with the grandpa, his attention partially on the books. “It was my wife’s,” the old man was saying. “Passed away a few years back. Our daughter moved to Australia with her husband, she’s not going to want to deal with all this old jumble when I kick the bucket too.”

Regulus nodded lightly. “It is sad, however a wise thing to do. I have recently gotten around to cleaning my late parent’s house… ” He paused, attention caught by a colourful Led Zeppelin album. “Didn’t Sirius listen to this band back at school?”

Remus glanced at it. “Yes, it was one of his favourites. Do you think the gramophone we found could play it?”

“I… don’t know. It’s old. We’re talking early 50s old,” Regulus directed at the widower. 

“The gramophone is for sale too,” the man said with a twinkle in his eye, pointing behind him, where the machine was in the shade of the garage..

Remus and Regulus looked at each other. A quiet understanding passed between them. “The gramophone and the vinyls, then.” Regulus declared. 

“All of them?” the widower asked, mildly surprised, even as he waved them over to take the gramophone.

Regulus smiled. “Your wife had an impeccable taste.”

The old man laughed. “That she did. That, she did.”

* * *

Regulus was restless. There was something… something, crawling under his skin and making it unable to focus on his reading. He rubbed at his face, long fingers sliding into his hair and tugging lightly.

He’d slept  _ okay _ . He had eaten not too long ago. (Between his secret stashes around the house, his  _ I-see-it-I-eat-it _ approach to dieting and Kreacher’s enjoyment of providing for him, he was never going hungry again.) The room was filled with just the right amount of unobtrusive background noise to feel like a library. There was no reason for him to be this distracted.

He lightly pulled at his locks again, then combed it back with his fingers. It felt good. They were shoulder length, as the custom of the lords was to wear their hair long. Regulus didn’t mind it; he didn’t particularly like it, either. The long strands slipped through his fingers and his nails scratched at his scalp lightly. It felt  _ good _ ; but he thought it had felt better when he was wearing a cat’s coat.

Oh.

Could that be it?

Regulus laid down his Charms textbook and buried both his hands in his hair. The drag of his fingers pulling at the roots gently - a bliss. But it could be  _ better _ .

Studies forgotten in the chase of pleasure, Regulus relocated to the bathroom. He gauded how long his cat fur might have been, what length would feel and look the best. He ran his fingers through his tresses a number of times before deciding to cut it just long enough to cover his ears partially. 

He never cut his own hair before. The thought of asking Sirius for help crossed his mind; but he was halfway through already, and didn’t feel like breaking the momentum. He quite liked the final result. Combing his fingers through the shorter hair felt  _ so good _ . But it still could be  _ better _ .

It’s been weeks since he’d last received physical affection and now that he realised it, it hit him how much he missed it. He couldn’t remember going this long without cuddles or at least a caress in the last 14 years. But it wasn’t like he could casually ask for scratches by plopping into Sirius’ lap any more…

Actually. Actually, “What’s stopping you?” he asked his own reflection. “Dignity? Sirius has none left either. He’d lost it long before you.” He fell quiet for a moment, pursing his lips. It was easy to be vulnerable in the cat form; it went both ways as people were often most open around silent faces. It was much harder in human shape, the idea of vulnerability being a weakness waiting to be exploited settled in his bones. But, that wasn’t what he and Sirius did any more, was it? Cleaning the house and uncovering his failings to Sirius, he’d given his brother a-plenty opportunities to cut, to twist the proverbial knife. And Sirius didn’t. 

“Let’s do this.” He vanished the cut hair from the sink, grabbed his cheat sheet, and set off to find his brother. Chances were, Sirius was having one of his depressive episodes that started getting more frequent now that cleaning didn’t keep them busy, and would benefit from an interruption. Or a cuddle session. Human contact was crucial for baby development and Regulus saw no reason why it shouldn’t continue to be valuable in adulthood.

He knocked on the door of Sirius’ room and did not wait for the answer. (When they were children, Sirius didn’t bother knocking even after Regulus hung up the, admittedly naive, sign on his door. The visits became sporadic as Sirius started to prefer chatting with Potter through their mirrors when he wanted company. Regulus had lied to himself that he didn’t mind.) Sirius was sprawled on his bed, staring at the burdungly ceiling. While Regulus gave his childhood room a complete makeover, Sirius opted to keep his unchanged.

Steeling himself in his resolution, Regulus summoned up as much of the  _ I do what I want _ swagger cats excelled in, and climbed on the bed. “What are you doing,” Sirius mumbled. His glare didn’t have much heat to it. 

“What do you think?” Regulus replied, trying to figure out how to situate himself now that he wasn’t 20 pounds anymore. His head on Sirius’ chest so that he could hear his heartbeat, check. His left arm was squeezed between their bodies uncomfortably, but it was bearable. One leg stretched out along Sirius’, the other thrown over Sirius’ stomach. With his knee nearly by his face he achieved the fur-ball effect he’d been aiming for. It took some more shifting and Sirius’s arm around his shoulders; but at last Regulus was snuggled up to his brother comfortably. Then he took Sirius’ free hand and pulled it to his head.

Sirius gave him an incredulous look. “Do you want me to… pet you?” he asked part in disbelief, part in caution.

Regulus adjusted his cheat sheet so that he could read it. “You don’t have to,” he said, slightly muffled by Sirius’ chest, “but it would be nice.”

There was a beat of stillness; then Sirius’ fingers brushed against the crown of Regulus’ head. With a happy sigh, the cat animagus closed his eyes and buried further into the warmth, his chest vibrating in lame attempts at purring.

He didn’t even know when he fell asleep.

* * *

It was almost time for Meteor’s walk, but the dog had yet to show up. Usually he was already restless and trekking between Regulus and the door by now. Well, if Muhammad will not come to the mountain…

The wizard gently removed Curiosity from his lap and stretched. He was only thirty three but his back felt eighty after several hours of sitting over his lordly matters. Especially when he chose to do them in a contorted position in his bed instead of in the study. He probably needed the walk as much as the dog, if not more.

Guessing Meteor was most likely with Sirius, he glanced into his brother’s room, only to find it empty. The dining room or the kitchen, then. He descended the stairs quietly, taking his time to smile at uncle Alphard (who now had a portrait in every public room of the house and squabbled with great-aunt Cassiopeia over the right to inhabit the frames). “They’re in the dining room,” the portrait informed him, already knowledgeable of the house’s life cycle.

“Thank you,” Regulus replied and made his way - to an unexpected and sweet display.

On the dog bed by the table, Meteor and Padfoot were snoring side by side, with Satisfaction curled up on top of them.

Cooing softly, Regulus backed out of the room and rushed to get the camera. It was a muggle instant one, a polaroid - he bought it on his walk home from his Divination exam. He’d spent half the time ranting about self-fulfilling prophecies and was still reeling on his way home. Some people stress-bake, Regulus stress-shopped. 

He tiptoed back to the kitchen, fiddled with the settings - and snapped a picture.

It came out as a void of different shades of black. 

It was perfect.

The shutter of the camera made the dogs stir from their slumber. "Wake up, sleepy heads," Regulus sing-songed quietly. "It's time for a walk!" 

Hearing 'walk', Meteor jumped to his feet, catapulting Satisfaction off his back. The tomcat screamed in surprise, by some cat-related miracle landed on all four and hissed, puffed up like a scrubbing brush. The serenity of the scene was perfectly ruined, but Regulus was too busy laughing to mind.


	8. Carry Me Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Granger is a Trekkie and Regulus tells Harry everything Dumbledore won't.

Regulus had been worried about having so many people over but as he bid goodbye to the Weasleys and the Grangers, he found himself tired but filled with contentment. It was nice to have Grimmauld’s Place busting with life… the pets had helped but the house still felt empty with only the brothers and occasionally Remus living there. Now it was lively, Sirius showing the children their rooms, excited about the sleepover. Regulus almost feared tomorrow morning when the children would leave for Hogwarts.

He’d spent most of the evening chatting with Hermione’s parents - it was easy to see where the girl got her curious and sharp mind. Regulus loved every second of explaining and discussing magical concepts with them; then it turned out Helen was a Trekkie, and they abandoned Elliot (leaving him to the mercy of Arthur’s curiosity) to talk about the show. Regulus had seen a couple episodes here and there in foster families but only started watching it in ‘90; sweet old Mrs. Preston never noticed when he switched the channel to BBC One during her nap. Helen had been a fan since ‘69, from the very first episode. She even wrote for the Official Star Trek Fan Club Of the UK magazine. Regulus thought that was amazing.

What was even more amazing; when he groaned about the absence of TVs in wizarding households, Helen invited him to watch Star Trek with her while he looked for a long term solution. He was very excited about that, even if he wouldn’t be able to take her up on her offer more than once or twice a week.

As pleasant as that conversation was, Regulus had one much less pleasant but way more important on his schedule. He knocked on the doorframe of Harry and Ron’s room, unsurprised to see Sirius there with them. “Hey guys, can you meet me in the study in a minute? Thanks,” he smiled when he was met with three nods. Then he knocked on Hermione and Ginny’s door. It was Ginny who opened. “I’m sorry to bother you, but could you please tell Hermione to come to the study? Actually… you should come too. We will be talking about some things I believe you are owed answers to.”

“Study is on the ground floor?” Ginny asked and when he nodded, “We’ll be there in five.”

Regulus had Kreacher prepare hot cocoa and biscuits for everyone. He asked the house elf if he wanted to stay in the room for the talk, but Kreacher chose to only be available if Master Regulus called. 

* * *

“Dumbledore does not want you to know this; citing you are children and should get to keep your innocence for as long as possible. While I agree with that, I also think that that ship has already sailed. Ignorance is not a bliss; it’s dangerous. You have already faced the Dark Lord twice. You need to know your enemy.”

Regulus let his gaze glide over the young faces around him; they were too young to deal with this, but as he just said; regrettably they were long beyond that point. And since Dumbledore seemed to be sticking to his habit of keeping secrets, it was up to Regulus to give these children the answers they deserved, give them the knowledge they needed.

He was originally only going to talk to Harry but he realised would tell Ron and Hermione anyway. And Ginny had been possessed by the soul fragment in the Tom Riddle’s Diary; she deserved to know what had happened to her, not whatever vague half truth Albus gave her parents.

“I will try to keep it brief since you need to be in beds before midnight. Let’s start with, I was a Death Eater.” That was only news for Ginny, whose eyes nearly popped out of her sockets, but the trio seemed more uncomfortable with that reality now that they’ve seen Death Eaters in action. “I will not explain or excuse my teenage self at this time; what is relevant to this conversation is that by being close to the Dark Lord, I discovered his true intentions.

“His true goal, beside the good old-fashioned world domination, was achieving immortality.”

“The Philosopher’s Stone,” Hermione gasped. “In our first year, Harry stopped Voldemort from getting the Philosopher’s Stone! Does that mean he had it before?” she asked.

Regulus shook his head lightly. “The Philosopher’s stone is one of known ways of prolonging one’s life, but it wasn’t what he had set his eyes on back then. What he did is that he created a horcrux. A horcrux is an object holding a half of a wizard’s soul. It prevents the soul from departing to the afterlife - so long as there is a horcrux, the person who made it cannot die. 

"The object can be anything - even a living being. The object becomes near to indestructible, and the soul within has the power to influence minds in its reach.” He nodded at Ginny. “Like the diary of Tom Riddle.” The girl paled and with a thin smile, Regulus nudged her mug, prompting her to drink her cocoa.

“In the Chamber of Secrets, the ...ghost from the diary told me that he was draining Ginny’s power from her, and that - she would die and he’d… be alive?” Harry volunteered, clearly trying to remember the exact phrasing.

Regulus nodded. “That is the function of a horcrux. To keep the soul tied to the mortal world and to enable a resurrection of sorts. We think the Diary was the first horcrux the Dark Lord made.”

“I’m sorry - the first?” Hermione asked.

“There are more?” Ron joined her. “And they can be _anything_? He could have made his chocolate frog collection into horcruxes?”

Regulus snorted at the idea of Voldemort collecting the chocolate frog cards - he’d have all of them in mint condition, probably unopened, even, and touching them would be an offence punishable by death. “Thankfully for us, he seems to have had an inclination for objects with personal and historical importance. Something like a chocolate frog card would be too mundae for his megaloman tendencies. We are aware of the Diary, and the Locket of Salazar Slytherin, which I discovered back in ‘79. I have a reason to believe that by the night of his disappearance, the Da- Voldemort made five horcruxes, and an accidental one.”

“How do you _accidentally_ make a Horcrux,” Sirius asked incredulously. “Dumbledore said it takes a ritual.”

“Usually, yes.” Regulus took a deep breath. “I'm not going into details with the ritual. I’m trying to not give you all nightmares.”

“A little late for that,” Ginny grinned at him. “Hey, we were looking at the family tapestry earlier and it says you died in 1979 - was it because you found out about the horcruxes?”

Regulus was frankly impressed she caught that. Still he grimaced, feeling the familiar mixture of shame and anger swelling up inside of him. “Not quite. I was in the thick of Voldemort’s admirers. Willing, devoted, fanatic followers. To waver in faith was unthinkable. I’d convince myself the creation of a horcrux was awe worthy and only made the Dark Lord more inspiring. No, if I found out any differently…” And here it was, the ire at himself, at Voldemort, bubbling over. He set his mug down harshly. 

“The Dark Lord requested to _borrow_ a house elf. I volunteered Kreacher, for some unfathomable reason thinking he’d have the decency to return him _undamaged_ ,” he spat the word out, because house-elves weren’t a commodity but everyone, even himself, treated them as such; and he’d been so _stupid_ , so naive, so secure in decorum. “So you can imagine my shock when Kreacher apparated to me on the brink of death. 

“Kreacher was _my_ house elf, _my friend_ , my _responsibility._ Voldemort had. No. Right,” he hissed venomously. Waving his hand in agitation at it all he leaned back into the divan, a perfect picture of a haughty pureblood. His voice turned icy cold. “And the thing is, I’m petty. I am a petty grudge-holding _fuck,_ ” any other day he might laugh at Sirius’ shocked expression; he was never one for swearing, so whenever he cursed it took everyone by surprise. Now though he was too caught in his triade to even notice.

“Voldemort made it personal. I stopped caring for my own survival - I was a dead man walking. Voldemort would find out about my intentions and murder me. And possibly my parents as well, as an example, the way he liked it.” He fell quiet, rubbing his face. “I was going to die either way so the least I could do was do it on my terms while contributing to his own end.” He let his hands fall in his lap. “And then it didn’t stick. I don’t think I ever felt so betrayed as the first few weeks in a cat’s skin.”

“He blotched becoming an animagus in his fourth year. After he went and died he realised he was a cat and had eight more lives to go,” Sirius explained to Ginny.

Regulus raised his hands in a ‘What can you do?’ shrug. “Death is a nice bloke, I don’t mind seeing him a few more times. Harry, it’s going to get extremely personal for you now. Are you comfortable with everyone here hearing it, or would you rather someone left the room?”

The boy squirmed in his seat, looking at his friends and Ginny. 

“I can go,” the redhead offered but Harry was already shaking his head.

“No, you can stay. I think. When you say extremely personal, you mean... “

“I mean I was there the Halloween night Voldemort murdered your parents and have a rather informed theory of how you might have ‘defeated’ him.”

Sirius barked out in laughter. “And they say _I_ have no tact.” 

“You don’t,” Regulus agreed. “Lily and James adopted me under the name of Fozzie from a muggle shelter in the early spring of 1980; we lived in the Potter Manor until they got pregnant with you, then we moved to the Cottage in Godric’s Hollows.” It took one look on Harry’s face to know that Harry had no idea about any of that.

It pained him, how little Harry knew of his roots. To Regulus, history and family was an important part of his identity; he couldn’t imagine himself looking at the stars and not thinking of his ancestors. He smiled at the boy softly. “We’ll tell you all about _that_ on the Yule break. Because you _are_ coming. Now; why did Voldemort go after your parents with such vengeance in the first place you might ask?

Dumbledore had an interview with Trewanley, for the post of a Divination Professor. During the interview she fell into trance and made a prophecy-”

He was interrupted by Hermione’s scoff of disdain. He pointed at her.

“That is _exactly_ how I feel about people who believe in prophecies. Even if the prophecy itself is genuine, it only describes a version of the future, and is only as powerful as the faith people have in it. Regretfully for everyone involved, Voldemort and Dumbledore both chose to give the prophecy the time of their day. It went something along the lines of; _He born as the month of July dies and whose parents thrice defied the Dark Lord will have a power the Dark Lord knows not; and neither can live while the other remains alive._ And the Dark Lord has to mark this person as his equal. 

“Voldemort only heard a part of the prophecy.” He wavered, considering how to best serve the next part. “A quick detour for context: your professor Severus Snape is a half-blood and grew up near the Evans. Him and Lily were best friends since before Hogwarts up until their fifth year, when he started hanging out with the Death Eater crowd.”

“WHAT?!” the children gaped as one.

“Professor Snape is a Death Eater?”

“Snape was friends with my mom?”

“Oh, he wanted to be more than friends,” Sirius said darkly. Regulus made the effort to kick him in the shin.

" _Was_ a Death Eater. He overheard the prophecy and told Voldemort. When he realised the prophecy could be talking about you, Harry, and therefore painted a giant target on Lily’s back… Dumbledore was vague and Severus tight-lipped, so this is more of a guess. But I believe Severus had Voldemort give him an Unbreakable Vow that he won’t harm Lily Potter.”

“What’s an unbreakable vow?” Hermione asked.

“That’s a promise you can’t break, or you die,” Ron explained. “That’s why it’s unbreakable.”

“Yes, it’s pretty self-explanatory,” Regulus agreed. He would love to stress how incredible a feat getting Voldemort to keep the simplest promises was. How incredibly skilled and brilliant Severus had to be to gain such value in the Dark Lord’s eyes. The Potion Master might have not been a nice person, or a particularly good one, and years seemed to have only fed into the bitterness of his soul. His skill and intellect should not be dismissed for it.

But it wasn’t a hill he should be dying on right this moment. The clock was ticking and he needed to send the children to beds; even if they probably weren’t going to get much sleep. Their minds would be too busy to succumb to dream too easily.

“That night Voldemort came… We weren’t expecting him. James ran out to meet him in nothing but his pyjama pants, to buy Lily time to grab you and run. It was brave and stupid and utterly Gryffindor,” he smiled sadly. “Lily barricaded us in your nursery, which did little to hold him back but… when he told her to move so that he could kill you, she only planted herself firmer. 

“That’s where my theory that Voldemort was killed by breaking the Vow might not check out - as far as my knowledge of Unbreakable Vows goes, Voldemort should have dropped dead as soon as Lily’s body hit the floor.” He sighed, ruffling his curls. It bothered him that he didn’t know, but there was no telling if and how creating multiple Horcruxes affected Voldemort’s ability to form magical bindings. 

“Either way. Then I partially took the Killing Curse aimed at you. A fragment of Voldemort’s shrivelled soul split off and latched onto the closest item of importance.” He paused to allow everyone to catch up with the meaning of his words. Sirius was staring at him in abject horror and Regulus remembered he hadn’t told him about this yet.

“You took a Killing Curse for Harry,” Hermione said slowly, “and the fragment of Voldemort’s soul latched onto the closest item of importance. On… Harry?”

Harry looked like he was going to be sick and Regulus wouldn’t blame him.

“Yes. The scar. Sirius told me you said it’s been hurting you lately.”

Harry touched his forehead with his fingers, without doubt tracing the scar. “It does that, sometimes. It’s been worse lately, and I… I have been having nightmares, nightmares about him, recently,” he confessed. Hermione huddled close to him and Ron put his arm around his shoulders. “Do you, do you think it’s the horcrux?”

“I think so, yes,” Regulus confirmed. “I think it’s reacting to Voldemort’s conscious piece of soul. Because…” he pulled up his left sleeve to show Harry his Mark. “See these lines? That’s the Dark Mark. Voldemort used it to brand his Death Eaters. At his full power, the ink was pitch black and the lines perfectly sharp. When I was changed back to human, the lines were near to invisible. A few weeks after Pettigrew escaped, the tattoo started getting clearer.” 

He moved his arm so that Hermione and Ginny could get a proper look. “It’s still far from it’s full glory, but I do think it means Pettigrew - or somebody else for that matter, found the remains of Voldemort’s soul. The piece of soul that’s been leeching off Quirrell and drinking unicorn blood. And they’re nursing it back to health.”

He rolled the sleeve back down and leaned back. “Any questions?”

“How do we know it’s not Snape?” Ron said, and Regulus sighed. 

“Because he was in love with Lily Evans to the point of obsession, and he too is a grudge-holding champion. He hates Harry because he _looks_ like James, the man who ‘stole’ Lily from him. Can you imagine the pure hatred he has to feel towards the man who actually killed her?” Regulus put forward for their consideration.

“What are we going to do about the Horcrux in Harry’s head?” asked Ginny, looking at Harry worriedly. Regulus sighed again.

“Since the only sure-fire way of destroying horcruxes we have would kill Harry permanently in under a minute, I’m afraid we might have no other option but to let the prophecy run it’s course,” he said tiredly. “It implies one of them has to die by the hand of the other to live and - this is a stretch. Okay? It’s an educated guess sweetened with wistful thinking. Don't go jumping in front of _Avada_ s. But I hope that when Voldemort casts the Killing Curse on Harry, it will kill the horcrux and not Harry himself.”

“When,” Sirius said flatly.

Regulus gestured at the teen. “With his luck? It’s definitely a when.”

* * *

The owl arrived at Hogwarts faster than the Hogwarts express. The note it carried was addressed to Headmaster Dumbledore. It was brisk, and the loopy handwriting spoke of a man who was not to be trifled with.

_It came to my attention that You and not my god-nephew Mr. Harry James Potter is the holder of keys to Potter Manor. I expect the keys to the property to be available for Harry Potter’s use before he leaves Hogwarts for Christmas break this year._

_It’s high time the boy learned about his family._

_May my letter find you well,_

_Regulus Arcturus Black,_   
_Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Carry Me Home by Glow-Worms


	9. Back In Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten." I can't believe Regulus has to wait until 2002 to watch, fall in love with and cry his heart out at Lilo and Stitch. (It'll be his fabourite movie of all times and I do not take criticism.) Also, hand-holding! So many hands were held in the course of writing this chapter. None of them was mine :(

Standing in the middle of the Grand Hall of the Black Mansion, Lord Regulus Arcturus Black gazed up at the enchanted ceiling. Replicating the mirroring charm of the Hogwarts Great Hall was pricey and bordering on illegal, but the result was so very worth the trouble. The stars reflected in the black marble of the hall’s floor. It was magnificent.

Steps echoed through the empty hall, until they stopped beside him. “This is new,” the woman said. 

“I thought it would look nice,” he said, not looking at the newcomer. She was not looking at him either, her face turned upwards.

“You were right.” After a while, “It’s good to see the rumors weren’t just that.”

“It’s good to see _you_ ,” he replied, finally looking at her. “You look radiant.” And she did.

Andromeda only got more beautiful since he last saw her on Narcissa’s birthday... some twenty years ago.

“Thank you,” she told him, “you look rather dashing yourself.”

Regulus glanced down at himself as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. It was a pair of muggle jeans and a thin black sweater with golden phoenixes embroidered on the sleeves. “Thank you,” he echoed her sentiment and added, “for coming.”

“I must admit I was surprised to see the seal of the Lord Black in my mail,” she said lightly, though Regulus knew it was anything but. They were both raised to be Black, after all.

“I only came to the title this July,” he said, not explaining anything she truly wished to know. “I asked you to come, because I have had a lot of time to think,” fourteen years of it, really, “about what the family motto means to me, what I _want_ it to mean.”

 _Toujour Pur_. They both turned to look at the family crest above the entrance. “ _Always pure._ Pure to what has always been up to interpretation. Our parents interpreted it as loyalty to the ideals of blood purity, putting it above all. I’ve had the fortune of seeing healthy familiar relationships since my… departure, and came to realise that more than by blood, a family is tied by the feelings of safety and love; by respect and validation. I rarely felt any of those during my childhood or adolescence.

“I want to change that.” The words were firm, unwavering. “I wish the House of Black to be more than a doll house of puppets controlled by narrow-minded tradition and society expectations. I intend to make it a _home_.”

He looked at Andromeda. She didn’t look back, her eyes glued to the crest still. “I am aware you are a Tonks now. I recognise that you might prefer the ties between us cut. However I need you to know that you and your family are always welcome at Grimmauld’s Place and other family estates.” 

Having said what he wanted to say, he let his eyes roam over his cousin’s face, committing it to his memory. There was no telling when, or if, he would see Andromeda again. They were never too close as children - she was far older than himself, and eloped before he even went to Hogwarts. He wanted to touch her. See if she was really... real.

“Have you talked to Narcissa yet?” she asked at last.

Regulus shook his head with a barely restrained self-deprecating smile. “I am a coward at heart. I wanted to have everything in order before I approach anyone whose opinion of me can reduce me to tears. She is coming at three, if you would like to meet her?”

It was Andromeda’s turn to shake her head. “I don’t think either of us is ready for that,” she said quietly. 

“That’s alright,” Regulus nodded, and gave in to the need, brushing his hand down Andromeda’s arm gently, giving her hand a brief squeeze. Her dress was of a fine material, and her skin was smooth and warm. Despite the lack of a title she had the hands of a lady. “If she agreed to meet for tea in the future - would you accept?”

She looked at him, then at the night sky above them. Regulus didn’t know what she saw there, but when she looked back at him, her eyes were full of resolution. “Yes,” she said. “If Narcissa agreed to it, I would love to have my sister back.”

* * *

Regulus was fretting. 

He tried to convince himself otherwise, but he cared so much about Narcissa’s opinion of him, he really, really wanted their meeting to go well.

What if she hated him? What if she thought he had abandoned her, like Andromeda abandoned her, like Sirius abandoned him? …He did abandon her, didn’t he?

He considered changing his attire a dozen times but ultimately decided to not play pretend with her. As he told Andromeda earlier that day: he had vowed to be true to himself. He couldn’t go breaking his resolve before he even started.

To occupy himself while he waited, he sat down behind the grand piano in the music room, going through simple exercises at first, then moving on to more difficult etudes. Then, led by his persistent thoughts of his cousin, his fingers switched fluently to the opening tunes of the Beatles’ _Let It Be_. The melody was so simple, and the words came to him easily.

The boy band was one of Narcissa’s guilty pleasures; not many knew. Regulus was nine when the band broke up, and remembered being upset about it on Narcissa’s behalf. At his first year at Hogwarts he bought a Beatles Sheet Music Collection with the help of a half-blood Ravenclaw as his middleman; he’d been so scared his parents would find out. He never dared to bring the paperback home, and would only play if Narcissa cast privacy charms. But the nerves and the secrecy had been worth making Cissa smile.

Finishing _Let It Be_ he switched to _With A Little Help From My Friends_ ; midway through he felt another presence enter the music room. 

_Do you need anybody? I need somebody to love._

Only after playing the last tones did he look up from the piano keys.

His breath stuttered and so did time.

Narcissa looked old in ways Andromeda didn’t. She looked old like Sirius looked old, worn down beyond her years by stress. No amount of beautifying potions could hide the fact she had lost nearly her entire family to prejudice and war.

She was the most beautiful thing Regulus saw in his entire life. Hauntingly - beautiful. She was shaking, he noticed. Then he realised he was trembling too. 

He stood up. She made a few hesitant steps forward, hands covering her mouth and heart. He understood; his own heart felt like jumping out of his chest.

He couldn’t stay away any longer.

In several long strides he crossed the distance separating them, arms outstretched. A picture of the little boy he once had been. And just like back then, Narcissa too opened her arms.

“Cissa,” he breathed out, cheek pressed against her hair. She smelled like oranges. She felt so small, so fragile in his arms. 

“Regulus,” she answered shakily. Her face was tucked against his shoulder. “It really is you.” 

They were both on the verge of tears when they parted. Neither of them let go, though.

“Where have you been,” she sniffled, tracing his face with her fingertips. He leaned into her touch, like a cat.

“Officially, in Arabia.” He touched the faint crow feet around her left eye softly, drinking in the sight of her. “The truth is I’ve had a transfiguration mishap; details are for Unspeakable ears only.” The apology was silent but heard. 

“The family tapestry… It says you died.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes as he confirmed his initial demise. He enwound his fingers with hers and led her hand to his heart so that. “I got better. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” 

He let their hands drop. “Have tea with me?”

“I would be delighted,” Narcissa dried her eyes with a handkerchief and hooked her hand in the crook of his elbow, signaling she was ready to move to the sitting room. Thankfully it was not far. “I met your house elf - she directed me here. “Does it mean Kreacher is…?” she trailed off, knowing how much Regulus liked the old elf.

“Kreacher is in good health, though his old age makes his duties taxing. He is in charge of the Grimmauld’s Place; I acquired a younger house elf to help him under the guise of Winky being his appretiance. Winnie, who you met, is in charge of this house as well as Chateau Noir. Slapdash and Hoony are currently cleaning the Blackmoore property.”

Narcissa raised an eyebrow at the fact Regulus was housing five elves when the usual was one per a family but did not comment. “Is it in a very miserable state? I would have arranged regular upkeep, but…” But it was not her property to use or manage, and Sirius was unable to care for such things from the Azkaban. In a way she was apologising for the mess he came into.

“It’s covered in layers of dust and infested with nasties-crawlies both muggle and magical, however the house itself seems to be in a good condition. I do intend to refurbish and renovate though, and would appreciate your input. If you have the time.”

She took it as the invitation to spend time together it was, and accepted warmly. 

Winnie brought them ginger cookies and tea service, and Regulus lied down on his divan, first on his side, then belly up in a show of trust. He didn’t hold back his smile when Narcissa made herself comfortable too, albeit in a more dignified manner.

It was nothing like what they did when they were children, hiding away from the adults and siblings both.

“Tell me about your son,” he asked her, and she did, beaming with motherly pride and overcome by motherly worries both. 

She sighed at Lucius’ overindulgent parenting style, very well understanding both the need of providing Draco with everything he might desire and the disservice it did to the boy’s character. She admitted Lucius wasn’t the only one guilty of spoiling Draco rotten; she wanted him to never doubt her love for him, to never feel her affection was conditioned. 

Regulus thought back to the letter of Draco’s he stole from the owl before it could depart - it’d been in the first weeks of the school year, before Sirius showed up and demanded most of Regulus/Crookshank’s attention. Seeing the boy who would have been his godson had he not died made Regulus desperate for any information for his favourite cousin. So he stole the letter. It was only a triade on the utter unfairness of being attacked by a hippogriff, but it screamed confidence that daddy would sort it out.

Regulus chewed on the letter until it was torn in little pieces - knowing Lucius, he would sort it out effectively and likely in an over the top fashion. From Harry, Ron and Hermione’s talks he knew the injury was Draco’s own fault by being insolent to the proud creature. Buckbeak and Hagrid did not deserve the hellfire Lucius would send on their heads.

They reminisced about their childhoods, about the troubles usually Bellatrix and Sirius dragged them into, the hexes they suffered as punishments. (“Neither I or Lucious ever physically punished Draco,” Narcissa said, “we agreed it wasn’t a means of discipline we wanted to use.” Regulus nodded in understanding.)

They talked about their plans for the future. (“I don’t plan on getting married, or continuing the bloodline,” Regulus confessed. A part of him was ashamed by the refusal to carry out his duties to the family, but the relief of saying it was greater. “We’ve had a good run - a long run, and it feels right that I and Sirius would be the last generation of Blacks bearing that name. Like the stars we were named after... we Blacks ran out of fuel and collapsed under the pressure of our own gravity.” Narcissa seemed sad but understanding.)

At some point, Regulus gravitated over to Cissa’s divan and they were sitting intimately close, Narcissa’s knees resting across Regulus’ thighs. Reaching over her legs to refill his teacup, his sleeve rode up enough to reveal the snake’s head. She sat her cup down and with a question in her eyes, took his arm in her hands. He gave her a slight nod and she rolled his sleeve further up.

“Lucius’ is bolder,” she noted quietly. It was the first time they acknowledged that part of their pasts.

“The bond got severed when I died,” he said just as quietly. “It’s been growing clearer since July.”

The fingers around his forearm tightened. “So it’s true? He… the Dark Lord… is he coming back?”

He twisted his arm so that he was holding her hand. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” It was a promise and a vow and an oath. A promise she needn’t to worry, a vow he’d keep her safe, an oath to end Tom Marvollo Riddle once and for all.

They sat in silence for a while. It was Narcissa who broke the moment. She looked out of the window and declared she should get going.

He sighed and leaned his head on her shoulder briefly before sitting up straight again. “Yes, it’s gotten late.” They sat their cups on the dainty table and Narcissa started titivating her skirts. Regulus straightened his attire as well.

“I talked to Andromeda,” he mentioned, tugging at the cuffs of his jeans to give Narcissa some privacy. “She said if you were agreeable, she would be excited to meet you, to reconnect.” He stopped fiddling with his jeans and stood up, taking her hands in his. “It’s completely up to you and you needn’t to decide now, but if you say the world-”

“You will arrange everything,” she finished the sentence for him. “Thank you. Do you think… should I?” The vulnerability of the question made his heart ache.

“Yes,” he said immediately, giving her hands a squeeze. “I know how much you hurt losing your sister. Not taking the opportunity to rekindle your relationship… I am certain you both would regret it.”

She pressed her lips together, thinking about his words. “Very well then. Would you like a copy of my social calendar for the next month?”

“It would make the coordinating easier,” he agreed.

“I will mail you a copy tomorrow,” she promised as she took a pinch of floo powder from the ornate bowl on the mantelpiece. 

“I will be looking forward to it,” he smiled and eloped her one last quick hug. “Give Lucius my regards, yes? And Cissa - anything _you_ need, I will do my damndest to make it happen.”

* * *

After Narcissa left, Regulus only met up with Winnie to see if she was okay or needed anything. The elf, whose last master passed away without an heir, was still getting used to having such a kind master and breaking the habit of punishing herself of perceived mistakes; which was why he checked up on her and with her daily. He made sure to praise her for how well she received his visitors, and flooed home as well.

He stepped out of the fireplace, and stepped on a squeaky toy. Somewhere in the house, Meteor started barking. Regulus looked at the inviting dining room; ancient furniture gleaming with a new layer of wax, curtains a warm shade of red, the cheesy wiener-dogs wallpaper still made him smirk in glee. Grimmauld’s Place was no longer the cold, stiff house of his childhood, and he took a moment to take pride in that.

“Welcome home, Master Regulus,” Kreacher croaked from the kitchen. He must have been waiting for Regulus to arrive because he started plating dinner while Winky set out the table.

Meteor bounced down the stairs and Regulus got on one knee to greet him. “Thank you Kreacher, it is good to be home. Hello Winky. Good boy, sit,” he pet the dog before sitting down himself. The boxer set his head down in his lap. 

Called by the commotion and the truly divine smell of Kreacher’s cooking, Sirius descended the stairs and joined them. “Hey,” he nodded at Regulus.

“Hello. Oh, that’s wondrous,” Regulus was quickly distracted when Kreacher levitated a plate of roasted duck with a side of griddled potatoes and apple sauce in front of him. Winky poured him a glass of sparkling blood orange flavoured lemonade he bought on his trip to France. “You spoil me,” he smiled at the elves, prompting a round of ‘Master Regulus is too kind’ exclamations. Not waiting any longer, he started devouring the meal with great enjoyment. 

He heard Sirius thank the elves for the meal before digging in, and smiled in his potatoes. The mutual animosity between Kreacher and his brother was still going strong but they both dialed it down significantly around Winky. After her sacking she was a little pile of big misery extremely sensitive to criticism, and despite his bad boy image Sirius did not know how to deal with tears. 

His fork got unyielding in his hand and he took it as the hint to slow down and chew it was. Sometimes he still forgot himself and ate like the food was going to be ripped away from him any moment. Kreacher had taken it upon himself to look after him and stop him from inhaling his meals.

“So,” Sirius said over the desert, “how was it?”

Regulus thought back to his day. He pet the dog head in his lap, he looked at his lovelies munching on their own dinner. He looked at the house elves puttering around the kitchen. He looked at his brother who was looking at him, expectant, because he knew meeting their cousins was important to Regulus.

"Good. It was really good," he said, gentle warmth rising in his chest.

 _I intend to make the House of Black a_ _home_ , he told Andromeda earlier that day. He thought he might have already succeeded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is AC/DC's 1980 hit Back In Black. 
> 
> Narcissa being The Beatles fan is a semi-crack headcanon I saw on tumblr a while ago. I love it and will be working towards making it a widely accepted fanon in the future.
> 
> I started writing the events of the Goblet Of Fire (for now titled "Regulus Didn't Die For This" or RDD4T for short), as they would happen in the Regulus is Crookshanks AU. What I'm saying is most of my muse is going forward to that, but if there is anything you'd like to see happen in 45 Decibels in the meanwhile, I'm open to suggestions :)


	10. That's What Friends Are For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to tell you. It started out as a Christmas fic, but I derailed into Umbridge's anti-werewolf legislative which wasn't very Christmas-y; still a piece I wanted to write though. It was supposed to be Remus-centric but somehow turned into a love-letter to Slytherin traits? (I'm a Slytherin like Peter Pettigrew is a Gryffindor: I don't posses the traits but fuck, do I want to. Do I want to.)
> 
> It's coherent, it has Sophisticated BAMF Regulus, tender Sirius and happy Remus; hereby I'm declaring it a success despite the messy writing process. Do enjoy!

Remus John Lupin’s life has never been an easy one. He struggled with his condition and the prejudice since before he understood why the world seemed to despite him.

It had never been as bad as the first months after he was outed. He didn’t know who told the Ministry and the press, if it was Snape or if some other student other than Hermione figured it out. Now his face, name and general location were all public information due to the Werewolf Registry. Since he left Hogwarts death threats, silver and hexes came by mail daily. He’d been denied housing and threatened with harm if he didn’t leave the establishment swiftly enough.

If it wasn’t for the Black brothers, he would have drowned in the hate, let it consume him.

But Sirius was right there, haunted with the horrors of the Azkaban, in need of all the support he could get. Remus may be a monster but he would never leave a friend behind. (Not again.)

And then there was Regulus: a whirlwind of black silk, muggle music and confidence.

Remus didn’t know Regulus very well at school. They would pass each other in the library and in his sixth year they were both prefects; but they never really talked. Remus tried to be friendly but the younger boy only ever gave him the cold shoulder. 

The younger man seemed to enjoy Remus’ company now, encouraging him to visit Grimmauld’s Place whenever. At first Remus believed it was purely for Sirius’ benefit; and perhaps because of the cleaning. However during their garage sale trip Remus realised the pureblood genuinely enjoyed his presence; that he valued hearing Remus’ knowledge and opinions. The young lord even opened his home to Remus for his transformations! The guest bedroom now had a brass plaque bearing the letters R.J.L., identical to the R.A.B. and S.O.B. on Regulus and Sirius’ doors.

Remus hasn't felt this accepted since the Marauders told him they knew and didn’t care about his condition.

Slowly but surely he got sucked into the life in Grimmauld’s Place. It scared him sometimes, how comfortable he felt in the boldly coloured house. Grimmauld’s Place was stepping on Meteor’s squeaky toys and tripping over Regulus’ “lovelies” in the morning, receiving casual physical affection from both brothers, thanking Kreacher for the coffee and pretending he didn’t hear the elf mutter half-hearted slurs under his breath.

The part of him that was used to hurt and loss was telling him that it could not possibly last, that the Blacks would grow tired of him soon enough.

That caution got shattered however, when Regulus dropped a stack of papers (and partially, himself) in Remus’ lap one afternoon post transformation.

“There’s this new bill concerning werewolf rights in the making,” Regulus talked fast but Remus’ heart fell even faster. The laws were bad enough for his kind as they were, providing little beyond most basic protection from violence. In the current climate, werewolves would be lucky to not be legally hunted for sport under the new legislation. Movement next to him made him realise Regulus was still talking. “...bare bones right now, which is why I need you and your deepest, wildest fantasies. Write me your utopia.”

_ What?  _ Remus quickly flipped through the papers, his bewilderment growing with each bullet point and question mark. “Regulus… Regs, there’s no way this would pass through the Wizengamot.”

The crazy man ruffled his hair. Usually Remus would duck away but this time he was too stunned for the hand in his hair to really register. “Leave the Wizengamot up to me and Aunt Lucretia’s little black book of blackmail. Your job - if you want to, that is, it’s fine if you don’t, would be a different area of networking. You have a lot of attention on you; if you speak now, you will be heard. You were a good teacher. Why not educate the masses?”

With a brief hug, Regulus stood up and put a multi-pen in Remus’ hands. “Think about it. That’s all I ask.” And he was gone, leaving Remus with only his racing heart and a draft titled  _ ‘ _ _ The Werewolf Code of Conduct 1637 Is Bollocks And This Is Why _ _ ’ _ .

* * *

There was something to be said about Regulus being the best of Slytherin. 

That wasn’t really new; he’d been the top of his class, a tutor to younger students, a Prefect and a Head Boy, the captain of the Quidditch team, a Slug Club member, a perfect little haughty pureblood snob. 

But this time around, Sirius got to see his brother’s snakeness from another perspective, to watch the disreputable Slytherin traits be engaged with grace and effectiveness. 

He saw the infamous Slytherin ambition in the determined glint in his brother’s eyes, in the steadfastness Regulus pursuited his goals with. He saw it in the ruthlessness that sometimes shone through the Lord Black’s actions and the iron in his spine. Sirius had once upon a time made the mistake of assuming Regulus’ softness was a weakness. Perhaps it was; but even so Regulus was anything but weak.

Regulus was cunning; he played fast and hard with rules, didn't shy from bribery nor blackmail yet never crossed the line. The way Regulus’ mind found elegant solutions to seemingly unrelated problems, the noblesse he worked a crowd with, uttering the right words to the right ears in the right time. Sirius hated this ability of Regulus’ just the slightest bit - he knew he was on the receiving end of this skill of his brother’s fairly often.

Resourcefulness. Where would he even start? Regulus seemed to make something out of nothing. In a couple of months he had reversed a decade of decay of the house Black, bringing it back to its wealth and political power with unseen speed. There were little opportunities Regulus wouldn't see and exploit.

Pride… That one had probably changed the most since Regulus’ teen years. It was hard to describe but… Regulus used to bear himself with the hauteur of a pureblood, seeing his worth in his lineage rather than his self. Now he carried himself upright, self-assured in a manner Sirius found himself envious of.

So Regulus was on the top of the game. But this was the first time Sirius really saw the  _ cost _ . The time and effort Regulus put into being that perfect. 

He reached out and dragged his fingers through his younger brother’s hair in a gesture that was becoming more and more familiar. As always, Regulus became boneless under the gentle touch, head falling backwards, eyes falling shut. He’d been at work for almost five hours straight now, which wasn’t the best considering it was after dinner. Sirius pulled on the wavy, nearly curly strands lightly and looked over the organised mess on the table. 

“Voice coaching?” he asked softly, the namecard catching his attention. It was propped up against a nearly untouched plate of mini-sandwiches. That was another thing - despite Kreacher and Winky catering food to him at every opportunity, Regulus seemed to be losing weight. It was nothing dramatic - but it was becoming noticeable. “I think your singing voice is pretty good. Strong, too; I could hear you from four floors away,” he teased.

That had been a good day. He’d put on the  _ Queen’s Greatest Hits _ in hopes the songs would give him the energy to get out of the bed. Regulus had been long up, moving about the house and trying to coax Satisfaction out of his hiding. (The tomcat didn’t like his insulin injections very much and sometimes tried his luck avoiding them.) He must’ve heard the music through Sirius’ closed door, because by  _ Mama oooh, I don’t wanna die _ he was belting the lyrics with such passion, Sirius simply had to go take a look. They ended up yelling the words at each other, Sirius down from the fourth floor and Regulus up from the first floor. It was glorious.

They both smiled at the memory. “‘S not for singing really,” Regulus murmured, tilting his head so that Sirius would scratch a particularly good spot. “I need to work on my hmmm, my declamation. And,” he added in that satisfied tone of his that meant he was very pleased with himself, “it’s an initial step to plan F.”

“Plan F for what?” Sirius inquired. 

Instead of replying outright, Regulus leaned away from the hands in his hair and fished around in one of his drawers, pulling out a file. “Johnson, the coach I hired, works with Stubby Boardman.”

“The lead singer of the Hobgoblins? I heard he retired after the turnip incident,” Sirius recalled.

“He did. I heard at the charity concert last month he rejoined the scene briefly in the late eighties, but is in and out due to his drug addiction. Now, look at this,” he pulled out a magazine cover from March 1992, Boardman posing on it with a guitar, and a picture of Sirius training Meteor that Remus took a few weeks ago. He held them up side by side. “And squint.”

“That’s a lot of squinting,” Sirius said after careful inspection of the two photographs.

“But it would work,” Regulus declared.

“So… the plan F is what, kidnapping a rock singer?”

“I’m fairly certain I could convince him to loan his image, or identity, to your disposal. You are similar in frame, and if he dyes his hair a couple times, people won’t question your black hair at all. Learn to play a little guitar and nobody will suspect a thing; and if, we’ll laugh it off as a conspiracy theory and make a running joke out of it,” Regulus explained, craning his neck to see Sirius’ reaction.

“That’s mad,” Sirius breathed out. Just mad enough to possibly work. He wasn’t going to lie, he’d love to get out of the house in his human form sometimes. He ruffled his brilliant little brother’s hair again. “Now go to bed, it’s late.”

Regulus seemed to want to put up at least a token protest, but was interrupted by a yawn. “Yes… yes, a bed sounds good.” When he got up and stretched, Sirius cringed at the loud pop of his spine.

“Yeah… well I’m going too, so good night, Regs.”

“Good night, Siri.”

Sirius waited until the light in Regulus’ room went out, then another ten minutes. Quietly he opened the door just a crack and peeked in. 

Regulus was curled up in his bed in an undeniably cat fashion, Curiosity half on his pillow and half on his face. He was out like light. It was improbable he would wake up before breakfast.

Satisfied with his findings, Sirius retreated to get a shuteye of his own. 

* * *

It would be a lie to say Regulus wasn’t on tenterhooks. Nearly five months of hectic preparation was going to either come to fruition or crash and burn now. The last Wizengamot session of the year would decide whether certain citizens of Great Britain would be shunned under Dolores Umbridge’s hateful and prejudiced legislation, or if lycanthropy would be classified as chronic illness. 

In the end, Regulus had very little to do with the actual legal document beyond the initial draft. He cherry-picked a team of lawyers from a list of names provided to him by his friendly goblins at the Gringotts Bank, who were responsible for giving the document the needed legal wording. 

He had tracked down the retired but still chipper Newt Scamander to become the face of the movement. He almost certainly owed this success to the fact Scamander’s pet Kneazles adored him. (He adored them too. Mauler, Milly and Hoppy were all sweethearts and he wanted to take them home.). It also helped that Harry’s Ravenclaw classmate Anthony Goldstein, a distant relative of Newt’s and Harry’s classmate, was very vocal about Remus Lupin being the first capable DADA teacher they ever had.

Getting Damocles Belby, the Potion Master mastermind behind the Wolfsbane potion, onboard was a little harder. It took a hefty grant and a promise of access to the infamous Black Library for the old man to bulge. Regulus even managed to get him excited about working with the Wolfsbane potion again, so there was to hoping a new, less expensive or at least less complicated or more tasty version of the remedy coming along.

Outside of checking in to make sure that the voices of werewolves were being heard he focused almost entirely on the organisational side of things. From press coverage to securing votes.

Regulus had done what he could to raise their chances. Thanks to Amelia, the werewolf legislative was scheduled to be the last on the program of the day. Regulus hoped his cause would be considered so hopeless, some of the opposing members would leave early, thinking their vote wasn’t needed. Lucius had been helping him enforce this line of thinking - his snide remarks made everyone believe  _ he  _ was only going to be there to enjoy the utter humiliation the werewolf community was going to face.

And it was working, too. To his left, he could see Nott Senior patting Lucius’ shoulder before leaving. The attendance dropped from fifty to fourty-three, still enough to pass or reject bills. Eighteen of which had promised to vote in favour of the Lycanthropy bill; twenty two had vowed to vote against Umbridge.

All twenty two of them kept their word; some of the others restrained from expressing their opinion. Umbridge got outvoted by eight votes. Regulus discreetly slumped in relief and sent a quick note to Grimmauld’s Place.

He didn’t listen very closely to the preview of their bill; he’d heard it so many times he could recite it himself. Once again, some hands remained down through the voting. Amelia finished counting. 

The Equity Bill became the Equity Act by two votes.

The rest of the day went by in a whirlpool of rubbing elbows, delicious food, subtle gloating, wonderful wine, plotting and dancing. Narcissa had been waiting for them at the Black Manor with refreshments and entertainment - they had agreed it would come in handy no matter the results. Regulus took his favourite cousin to the dance floor at least three times, and every other lady present at least once. Even the ever so strict Amelia allowed him to sway her for the duration of one song.

By the time the party died down around eleven and his guests flooed away to their homes, Regulus was quite tipsy and very, very ready for bed. He said his goodbyes to Winne, and flooed to Grimmauld’s Place.

He stumbled out of the fireplace only to find that at Grimmauld’s, the celebration was still going strong. As proven by a very drunk Sirius tackling him to the floor in a hug. Meteor was on the brothers in a flash, his excited barking deafening to Regulus’ ears. 

Laughing, the young man shoved off both the dog and his brother and accepted Remus’ hand to help him to his feet. He was pulled from the floor right into another hug.

“Thank you,” Remus murmured, while Regulus melted into his arms. It was rare for the werewolf to initiate contact, even despite the fact he clearly enjoyed it; Regulus certainly wasn’t going to be the one to let go.

“Thank Narcissa,” he told the blonde man when they at last parted. “If Lucius wasn’t so devoted to his wife, we would have no chances of making it.” 

Remus nodded and stepped back so that Regulus could greet the others. The Scamander couple was there despite the late hour, cousin Andromeda with both her husband and daughter. Regulus was a little bowled over by meeting Ted Tonks for the first time like this. Helen and Elliot Grangers too came to support their daughter’s favourite DADA teacher.

Too happy with the present company to excuse himself to bed, Regulus stayed and mostly listened to the chatter around him. At some point he ended up snoozing with his head in Sirius’ lap, fingers raking through his hair.

It was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is "That's What Friends Are For" (1985), a charity single for the American Foundation for AIDS research. I also considered Jimmy Sommerville's "Someting To Live For" but it came out in 1999 and clashes with my decision to only use songs Regulus might have heard on the radio.


End file.
